TALES   FROM   GORKY 


MAXIM     GORKY) 


TALES  FROM  GORKY 


TRANSLATED   FROM    THE    RUSSIAN 

WITH 

A  BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE  OF  THE  AUTHOR 
BY 

R.  NISBET  BAIN 


iANi    PEUR  ET 
SANS  REPROCHE 


' 


THIRD    EDITION 


NEW   YORK 

FUNK  AND  WAGNALL'S  COMPANY,  30,  LAFAYETTE  PLACE 

[All  Rigfils  Rcservetf] 

1902 


Translated  from  the  Russian  by 
R.  Nisbet  Bain. 


Copyright,  1902 

Nevi  York :  Funk  and  WagiialPs  Company,  30,  Lafayette  Place 

London  :  Jarrold  &-'  Satis 


CONTENTS. 


BIOGRAPHICAL   NOTICE  -               -                           7 

I.  IN   THE   STEPPE       -  19 

II.  TWENTY-SIX  OF  US  AND  ONE  OTHER    -               -        42 

III.  ONE   AUTUMN   NIGHT  67 

IV.  A   ROLLING   STONE          -  82 
V.  THE   GREEN    KITTEN  -                -                -               146 

VI.  COMRADES-         «                -  -                -                -      l6o 

VII.  HER   LOVER                -  -                -                -               1 86 

VIII.  CHELKASH          •  ...      195 

IX.  CHUMS                         ....  258 


2083513 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 

WE  should  not  give  very  much  for  the  chances  of  a 
poor  friendless  lad  of  feeble  constitution,  vagrant 
disposition,  and  an  overpowering  taste  for  excite- 
ment, who  should  be  turned  adrift  to  shift  for  himself 
at  an  age  when  most  young  lads  are  still  safe  at 
school.  The  fortunes  of  such  a  one,  if  adequately 
recorded,  might,  and  no  doubt  would,  be  infinitely 
more  engrossing,  if  less  edifying,  than  the  humdrum 
chronicle  of  the  steady  clerk  or  patient  mechanic ; 
but  a  prison,  or  workhouse  infirmary,  might  safely  be 
predicted  as  the  ultimate  and  inevitable  receptacle  of 
such  a  piece  of  human  flotsam. 

But  now  let  us  suppose — a  handy  supposition,  I 
admit — that  our  imaginary  little  nomad  were  endowed 
with  that  illuminating  spark  we  call  genius ;  let  us 
suppose,  too,  that  in  late  boyhood,  or  early  manhood, 
he  learnt  to  love  letters,  and  deliberately  set  about 
describing  his  extraordinary  experiences,  as  well  as 
the  strange  bedfellows  whom  misery  from  time  to 
time  threw  in  his  way — what  piquant,  what  grotesque 
pen-and-ink  sketches  we  might  expect  from  such  an 
inspired  ragamuffin!  It  would  be  Oliver  Twist  or 


8  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 

Humphrey  Clinker  telling  his  own  tale  without  the 
softening  intervention  of  Mr.  Charles  Dickens  or  Mr. 
Tobias  Smollett. 

Let  us  further  suppose  not  England  but  Russia  to 
be  the  theatre  of  our  hero's  miseries  and  adventures, 
and  the  interest  of  the  story  will  at  once  be  infinitely 
enhanced.  The  odds  would  now  be  a  thousand  to 
one  against  our  hero's  attaining  to  manhood  at  all, 
and  a  hundred  thousand  to  one  against  his  ever 
attaining  to  authorship.  His  risks  would  be  out  of 
all  proportion  to  his  chances.  From  first  to  last 
starvation  would  constantly  dog  his  footsteps,  and 
Siberian  exile  would  be  the  least  terrible  of  a  score  of 
those  administrative  measures  by  means  of  which  the 
servants  of  the  Tsar  wage  unintermittent  warfare 
against  the  vagrant  population  of  their  master's  im- 
mense Empire.  The  career,  then,  of  a  professional 
tramp  in  Russia  must  needs  be  of  tragic  intensity,  and 
it  was  my  good  fortune,  some  eighteen  months  ago, 
in  the  pages  of  "  The  Pilot"  to  be  the  first  to  call  the 
attention  of  English  readers  to  the  strange  history 
of  a  Russian  tramp  of  genius,  who  is,  moreover,  his 
own  chronicler.  Maksim  Gorky — Maximus  the  Bitter 
— is  the  pseudonym  deliberately  chosen,  at  the  outset 
of  his  career,  by  the  young  Muscovite  author  who  is 
at  the  present  moment  (and  I  do  not  even  except 
the  revered  name  of  Tolstoi)  by  far  the  most  popular 
story-teller  in  the  Russian  Empire.  The  following 
brief  biographical  sketch  of  this  remarkable  man  is 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH.  9 

the  best  introduction  I  can  affix  to  this  selection 
from  Gorky's  unique  "  Razskazui,"  in  all  of  which  the 
author  has,  more  or  less,  embodied  his  grim  experi- 
ences of  life  beneath  the  transparent  veil  of  fiction. 

Aleksyei  Maksimovich  Pyeshkov  was  born  on 
March  I4th,  1869,  at  Nijni-Novgorod.  His  mother 
Barbara  was  the  daughter  of  a  house  painter  and 
decorator,  Vasily  Kacherin  ;  his  father  was  Maksim 
Savvatiev  Pyeshkov,  an  upholsterer  of  Perm.  Alek- 
syei's  parents  seem  to  have  been  worthy,  colourless 
people,  and  fairly  well  educated  for  their  station  ; 
but  they  dwindle  into  insignificance  before  their 
respective  fathers.  Young  Pyeshkov's  two  grand- 
fathers were  undeniably  men  of  character,  self-made 
men  of  brutal  energy,  who  terrorized  their  respective 
families,  and  were  as  hard  and  cold  as  the  money 
they  worshipped.  So  severe,  indeed,  was  the  regimen 
of  Aleksyei's  paternal  grandfather,  that  his  own  son 
ran  away  from  him  five  times  in  the  course  of  seven 
years.  On  the  fifth  occasion  he  did  not  return,  but 
walked  all  the  way  (he  was  only  seventeen)  from 
Tobolsk  in  Siberia,  where  the  family  then  lived,  to 
Nijni-Novgorod,  where  he  settled  down  as  an 
apprentice  to  a  clothier.  Five  years  later  we  find 
him  occupying  a  responsible  position  in  the  office 
of  a  steamship  company  at  Astrakhan.  Gorky's 
maternal  grandfather  may  well  have  been  the  proto- 
type of  Ignat  Gordyeev,  the  most  impressive  character 
in  Gorky's  romance,  "  Thoma  Gordyeev."  Beginning 


io  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 

life  as  a  raftsman  on  the  Volga,  in  the  course  of  a 
short  time  he  became  a  man  of  substance,  started 
a  dyeing  factory  at  his  native  place,  Nijni- 
Novgorod,  was  elected  Starshina,  or  Chief  of  the 
Traders'  Guild  there,  and  was  generally  looked  up 
to  by  everyone  but  his  wretched  daughter,  whom  he 
made  more  wretched  still  when  she  threw  herself 
away — or  so  he  accounted  it — on  such  a  poor  non- 
descript as  Maksim  Pyeshkov. 

The  earlier  years  of  Aleksyei  Pyeshkov  were  as 
uneventful  as  are  the  years  of  most  children.  In 
1873,  however,  when  he  was  only  four  years  old,  he 
met  with  his  first  misfortune :  his  rolling  stone  of  a 
father  died  of  cholera  at  Astrakhan.  His  mother 
re-married  shortly  afterwards,  and  transferred  him 
to  the  care  of  his  grandfather,  who  seems  to  have 
been  kind  to  the  little  lad — cruel  fathers  are  very 
often  indulgent  grandfathers — and  taught  him  to  read 
with  the  aid  of  the  Psalter  and  other  liturgical  books, 
by  way  of  preparing  him  for  school,  whither  he  was 
presently  sent  But  his  regular  schooling  lasted  no 
longer  than  five  months,  for  about  this  time  his 
mother  died  of  consumption,  and  almost  simul- 
taneously his  last  natural  prop  gave  way,  his  grand- 
father suddenly  ruining  himself  utterly  by  over- 
speculation.  Little  Aleksyei,  therefore,  was  obliged 
to  exchange  his  schoolroom  for  the  shop  of  a  cobbler 
to  whom  he  was  apprenticed  ;  but  after  serving  his 
master  for  two  months,  he  burnt  one  hand  so  severely 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH.  n 

with  boiling  pitch  that  he  was  pronounced  useless  to 
the  trade,  and  sent  about  his  business. 

On  recovering  from  the  effects  of  this  accident  he 
was  apprenticed  by  his  kinsfolk  to  a  draughtsman, 
who  treated  him  so  harshly  that  he  ran  away, 
becoming  first  an  assistant  to  an  ikon-maker,  and 
then  a  turnspit  on  a  steamer  on  the  Volga.  Here 
he  met  with  an  unexpected  piece  of  good  luck. 
His  new  master,  the  cook  on  board  the  steamer, 
Smurny  by  name,  happened  to  be  a  lettered  man 
of  superior  ability,  and  he  proved  to  be  one  of  the 
best  friends  young  Pyeshkov  ever  had.  But  for  him, 
indeed,  modern  Russian  Literature  in  all  probability 
would  now  have  been  minus  of  one  of  its  chief  orna- 
ments. Smurny  awakened  within  the  lad  a  love  of 
literature,  and  placed  at  his  disposal  his  own  little 
library,  a  miscellaneous  collection  enough,  in  which 
fantastic  lives  of  the  Greek  Orthodox  Saints  and 
interminable  treatises  on  Freemasonry  lay  cheek 
by  jowl ;  it  was,  however,  an  inestimable  boon  to 
Aleksyei,  and  it  included,  at  any  rate,  the  works 
of  one  indisputable  European  classic  —  Gogol' — 
besides  some  of  the  novels  of  Alexandre  Dumas. 
Pyeshkov  himself,  in  his  fragmentary  autobiography, 
insinuates  that  his  chance  encounter  with  the 
cultured  cook  was  a  turning-point  in  his  career. 
"  Till  the  advent  of  the  cook,"  says  he,  "  I 
could  not  endure  books,  or,  indeed,  any  sort  of 
printed  paper — passports  included."  Why  he  quitted 


iz  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 

Smurny  we  are  not  told  ;  but  we  do  know  that  when 
he  left  the  steamer  to  become  a  gardener's  assistant, 
he  pursued  his  studies  whenever  and  wherever  he 
had  the  chance.  At  the  age  of  fifteen,  indeed,  his 
thirst  for  learning  induced  him  to  present  himself 
at  the  gates  of  the  University  of  Kazan,  the  great 
Volgan  seminary,  where  Tolstoi  had  been  educated 
forty  years  earlier,  in  the  nafve  belief  that  instruction 
of  all  sorts  was  to  be  had  there  by  anyone  for  the 
simple  asking.  "  I  was  mistaken,  it  appeared,"  he 
observes  with  pathetic  sarcasm,  "so  I  entered  a 
biscuit  factory  at  three  roubles  (6s.}  a  month."  He 
has  related  his  experiences  of  this  grinding  slavery 
in  a  subterranean  "  stone  cage "  in  that  powerful 
story,  "  Twenty-Six  of  Us  and  one  Other."* 

"It  was  a  grievous  evil  life  we  lived  within  those 
thick  walls.  .  .  .  We  rose  at  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning  without  having  had  our  sleep  out,  and — 
stupid  and  indifferent — at  six  o'clock  we  were 
sitting  at  the  table  to  make  biscuits  from  dough 
already  prepared  for  us  by  our  comrades  while  we 
were  still  sleeping.  .  .  .  Our  master  called  us  niggers, 
and  gave  us  rotten  entrails  for  dinner  instead  of 
butcher's  meat."  No  wonder  he  calls  this  drudgery 
"  the  hardest  work  I  ever  experienced." 

And  here  there  is  a  blank  in  our  biographical 
record — a  blank,  however,  which  may,  partially,  be 

*  No.  2  of  the  present  collection. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH.  13 

filled  up  from  conjecture.  To  this  period  belongs,  I 
opine,  the  first  of  Pyeshkov's  gipsy-like  wanderings 
through  Russia.  The  most  casual  reader  of  his  tales 
is  struck  at  once  by  his  delight  for  the  free,  careless 
life  of  a  vagabond.  The  justification,  the  philosophy 
of  that  life,  so  to  speak,  he  has  put  into  the  mouth 
of  that  prince  of  vagabonds,  Promtov*,  evidently  a  real 
person,  whose  antitype  Pyeshkov  must  have  met  with 
on  his  rambles,  and  who  is  one  of  his  best  creations 
It  was  now,  too,  that  he  must  have  made  the  acquaint 
ance  of  the  so-called  "  Buivshie  Lyudi/'-j-  or  "  Have- 
beens,"  whom  he  has  immortalized  in  so  many  of  his 
tales,  that  numerous  and  unhappy  class  who  have 
fallen,  beyond  recovery,  from  positions  of  trust  or 
emolument.  These,  too,  were  the  days  when,  as  he 
tells  us,  "  I  sawed  wood,  dragged  loads,"  and,  in  fact, 
did  all  sorts  of  ill-paid,  menial  labour.  On  the  other 
hand,  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  numerous  students 
at  Kazan,  was  admitted  into  their  clubs,  and  his 
unquenchable  ardour  for  learning  revived.  We  do 
not  know  what  he  read  during  these  years,  but  he 
must  have  read  a  very  great  deal.  None  can  take  up 
his  works  without  being  impressed  by  the  richness 
and  variety  of  his  vocabulary,  and  it  is  not  too  much 
to  say  that  no  other  Russian  writer  ever  uses,  or  has 
used,  so  many  foreign  terms  (English  and  French 
especially),  or  has  coined  so  many  new  words  from 

*  In  "A  Rolling  Stone."       f  •£»'.,  those  who  have  been. 


14  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 

extraneous  western  sources.  It  is  also  plain  from 
internal  evidence  that  he  has  studied  history,  philos- 
ophy, and  science  with  enthusiasm,  and  I  agree  with 
those  Russian  critics  who  complain  that  he  has 
assimilated  more  Nietzschianism  than  is  good  for  him, 
although,  on  the  other  hand,  I  consider  that  his 
obligations  to  Nietzsche  are  far  less  considerable  than 
is  commonly  supposed.  And  at  the  same  time  he 
was  consorting  freely  with  ruffians  of  every  descrip- 
tion,* sleeping  round  camp  fires  with  murderers  and 
thieves,  for  the  sake  of  a  crust  of  bread,  and  once 
would  actually  have  starved  to  death  but  for  the 
charity  of  a  kind-hearted  prostitute.f  Naturally 
courageous,  and  with  the  buoyancy  of  youth  to  hold 
him  up,  he  seems  to  have  endured  these  hardships 
cheerfully  enough,  and  a  fine  sunset,  or  a  majestic 
seascape,  or  even  a  glimpse  of  the  monotonous 
grandeur  of  the  endless  steppe,  would,  as  a  rule, 
be  compensation  enough  for  the  fatigues  of  a  hard 
day  at  its  close.  But  he,  too,  had  his  dark  moments, 
and  in  1888  (when  only  nineteen)  he  tried  to  com- 
mit suicide  from  sheer  wretchedness.  Fortunately 
the  bullet  struck  no  vital  part,  and  he  was  nursed 
into  convalescence  at  a  hospital  in  Kazan.  "  Having 
sufficiently  recovered,"  says  Gorky,  sarcastically 
summing  up  his  position  at  this  period,  "  I  survived 
in  order  to  devote  myself  to  the  apple-selling  trade." 

•  See  "  In  the  Steppe."        t  See  "  One  Autumn  Night." 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH.  15 

On  quitting  Kazan,  Pyeshkov  appeared  at  Tsarit- 
suin,  where,  for  a  time,  he  was  a  railway  porter.  He 
was  summoned  from  thence  to  his  native  place, 
Nijni-Novgorod,  to  serve  as  a  recruit.  But 
Aleksyei  was  not  of  the  stuff  of  which  soldiers  are 
made.  "They  don't  take  rubbish  like  me,"  he 
explains,  so  he  eked  out  a  living  by  selling  lager-beer 
in  the  streets  till  he  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
benevolent  advocate,  A.  J.  Lanin,  who  made  young 
Pyeshkov  his  secretary. 

According  to  Gorky's  own  admission,  Lanin  had 
a  considerable  influence  on  his  future  development 
But  Gorky,  who  always  felt  himself  "out  of  place 
among  intellectual  folk,"  and  has  an  undisguised 
contempt  for  mere  book-learning,  now  quitted  his 
patron  and  returned  to  Tsaritsuin,  whence  he  rambled 
through  Southern  Russia,  the  Ukraine,  and  Bessarabia, 
finally  working  his  way  through  the  Crimea  and  the 
Kuban  District  to  the  Caucasus.  The  tour  was  rich 
in  new  experiences,  and  may  be  said  to  have  matured 
his  genius,  and  taught  him  more  than  whole  libraries 
of  books  could  have  done,  but  he  suffered  terrible 
privations  by  the  way.  He  made  a  particular  study 
during  this  period  of  the  cities  of  Southern  Russia, 
their  commercial  activity  and  their  shifting,  nonde- 
script population,  and  that  noble  story,  "  Chelkash," 
which  contains  his  finest  descriptions  of  nature,  was 
the  ultimate  result  of  his  experiences. 

At  Tiflis  he  worked  as  a  navvy  for  a  time,  and  in 


16  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 

1892  his  first  printed  story,  "  Makar  Chudra,"  appeared 
in  the  columns  of  the  Tiflis  journal,  Kavkaz.  I  have 
described  elsewhere*  his  dramatic  introduction  to  the 
astonished  but  appreciative  editor  on  that  occasion. 
Returning  to  Nijni- Novgorod,  Gorky  got  several 
subsequent  stories  inserted  in  the  principal  news- 
papers of  the  various  Volgan  cities  ;  but  he  wrote  but 
little  at  this  period,  and  that  little  did  not  win  general 
favour. 

In  1893  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  eminent 
Russian  writer,  Korolenko,  to  whose  encouragement 
he  always  attributed  his  ultimate  success.  Korolenko 
urged  him  to  have  done  with  trifles,  aim  high,  and, 
above  all  things,  cultivate  his  style.  Shortly  after- 
wards, Gorky  published  his  first  indisputable  master- 
piece, "Chelkash,"  No.  8  of  the  present  collection, 
which  opened  "  the  big  reviews  "  to  the  young  author, 
and  made  him  famous.  "Chelkash"  was  speedily 
followed  by  a  whole  series  of  vivid  stories.  In  1900 
appeared  his  first  romance,  "Thoma  Gordyeev,"  a 
disappointing  performance  on  the  whole,  though  not 
without  superlative  merits.  The  descriptions  of 
Volgan  scenery  are  magnificent,  and  the  charac- 
terization is  masterly.  But  it  is  far  too  long,  ana) 
the  narrative  is  swamped  by  floods  of  second-rate 
philosophy.  A  collection  of  all  Gorky's  works,  under 

*  In  the  Monthly  Review  for  December.  In  the  same  number  of 
the  same  periodical  appeared  the  first  English  translation  of  one  of 
Gorky's  tales,  curiously  enough,  the  first  tale  he  wrote. 


BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH.  17 

the  title  of  "  Razskazui "  (Tales),  is  still  in  progress. 
At  present  Gorky  is,  without  doubt,  by  far  the  most 
popular  author  in  Russia,  and  the  authorities  there 
have  already  paid  him  the  compliment  of  branding 
his  writings  as  even  more  dangerous  than  those  of  his 
veteran  contemporary,  Count  Leo  Tolstoi.  He  is 
also,  I  fancy,  likely  to  give  them  much  more  trouble 
in  future  than  the  Count,  as  his  temperament  and 
genius  are  distinctly  of  the  volcanic  order. 

R.  NISBET  BAIN. 


TALES  FROM  GORKY. 


I.— IN    THE    STEPPE. 

WE  quitted  Perekop  in  the  vilest  spirits — hungry  as 
wolves  and  at  war  with  all  the  world.  In  the  course 
of  a  whole  twelve  hours  we  had  unsuccessfully  em- 
ployed all  our  talents  and  capabilities  to  earn  or  steal 
something,  and  when  we  became  convinced,  at  last, 
that  success  was  impossible  either  way,  we  resolved 
to  go  further  on.  Whither?  Simply — further  on. 

This  resolution  was  unanimous,  and  by  mutual 
agreement.  Moreover,  we  were  resolved  to  go  further 
in  every  respect.  The  manner  of  life  we  lately  had 
been  leading  was  to  be  a  mere  starting-point,  and 
although  we  did  not  so  express  ourselves  aloud,  it 
blazed  forth  plainly  enough  in  the  sullen  glare  of  our 
hungry  eyes. 

There  were  three  of  us,  and  we  had  all  quite  recently 
made  one  another's  acquaintance,  having  first  rubbed 
shoulders  together  at  Kherson,  in  a  little  tavern  on  the 
banks  of  the  Dnieper. 

One  of  us  had  been  a  soldier  of  the  railway  battalion, 
and  after  that  a  sort  of  upper  road-mender  on  one 


20  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

of  the  Polish  roads;  he  was  a  red-haired,  muscular 
chap  with  cold  grey  eyes;  he  could  speak  German, 
and  was  very  intimately  acquainted  with  the  mimttia 
of  prison  life. 

Our  friend  did  not  like  to  speak  very  much  of  his 
past  for  more  or  less  well-founded  reasons,  and  indeed 
we  all  of  us  took  each  other  on  trust,  at  least  we 
ostensibly  took  each  other  on  trust,  for,  privately,  not 
one  of  us  even  trusted  himself. 

When  our  second  comrade,  a  withered  little  manni- 
kin  with  small  teeth,  always  pressed  together  scepti- 
cally— when  our  second  comrade,  I  say,  speaking  of 
himself,  said  that  he  had  formerly  been  a  student 
at  the  University  of  Moscow,  I  and  the  soldier 
accepted  the  statement  as  a  fact.  In  reality  it  was 
all  one  to  us  whether  he  had  been  a  student,  a  bailiff's 
man,  or  a  thief.  The  only  matter  of  any  importance  to 
us  was  that  at  the  moment  of  our  first  acquaintance  he 
stood  on  our  level,  in  other  words :  he  was  starving, 
engaged  the  particular  attention  of  the  police  in  the 
towns,  was  an  object  of  suspicion  to  the  peasants  in 
the  villages,  hated  everyone  with  the  hatred  of  an 
impotent,  bated,  and  starving  wild  beast,  and  was 
intent  on  a  universal  vengeance — in  a  word,  he  was 
of  precisely  the  same  kidney  as  ourselves. 

Misfortune  is  the  most  durable  cement  for  the  joining 
together  of  natures  even  diametrically  opposed  to  each 
other,  and  we  were  all  convinced  of  our  right  to 
account  ourselves  unfortunate. 


IN    THE    STEPPE.  21 

I  was  the  third.  The  modesty  inherent  in  me  from 
my  earliest  years  forbids  me  to  say  a  single  word 
as  to  my  merits,  and,  not  wishing  to  seem  naive,  I  will 
be  reticent  as  to  my  defects.  But  by  way  of  supply- 
ing materials  for  an  estimate  of  my  character,  I  will 
add,  if  you  like,  that  I  had  always  accounted  myself 
better  than  other  people,  and  have  successfully  held 
to  the  same  opinion  down  to  this  very  day. 

Thus  we  emerged  from  Perekop  and  went  further 
on,  our  objective  for  that  day  being  the  Chabans,* 
from  whom  it  is  always  possible  to  cadge  a  little  bread, 
and  who  very  rarely  turn  tramps  away  empty-handed. 

I  walked  with  the  soldier,  "  the  student "  was  slouch- 
ing along  behind  us.  On  his  shoulders  hung  some- 
thing dimly  reminiscent  of  a  pea-jacket ;  on  his  head 
reposed  a  sharp,  singular,  and  smoothly  clipped 
fragment  of  a  broad-brimmed  hat ;  grey  breeches, 
covered  with  variegated  patches,  fitted  tightly  round 
his  thin  little  legs,  and  by  way  of  foot  gear  he  made 
use  of  the  leg  of  a  boot  which  he  had  picked  up  on 
the  road,  and  attached  to  its  proper  place  by  means  of 
little  bandages  ripped  from  the  inner  lining  of  his 
costume.  This  invention  he  called  sandals,  and  he 
shambled  along  in  silence,  raising  a  great  deal  of 
dust,  and  blinking  around  with  his  tiny,  greenish 
little  eyes.  The  soldier  wore  a  red  woollen  shirt, 
which,  to  use  his  own  words,  he  had  "  gained  with 

*  Shepherds  of  Southern  Russia. 


22  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

his  own  hands  "  at  Kherson ;  over  the  shirt  he  wore 
a  warm  wadding  vest ;  on  his  head  was  a  military 
forage  cap  of  indeterminate  colour,  worn,  according 
to  the  service  regulations,  "  with  the  flap  of  the  upper 
segment  over  the  left  brow  "  ;  on  his  legs  were  broad 
baggy  chumak  trousers.  He  was  barefooted. 
I  also  had  clothes  on  and  was  barefooted 
On  we)  went,  and  around  us  in  every  direction, 
in  heroic  proportions,  stretched  the  steppe,  covered 
by  the  blue  sultry  cupola  of  the  cloudless  summer 
sky,  and  lying  before  us  like  a  huge  round  black  platter. 
The  grey  dusty  road  intersected  it  like  a  broad  ribbon 
and  burnt  our  feet.  Here  and  there  we  fell  in  with 
bristly  patches  of  trampled-down  corn,  having  a 
strange  resemblance  to  the  long  unshaven  cheeks  of 
the  soldier. 

The  soldier  marched  along,  singing  in  a  hoarse 
bass: 

"  And  thus,  oh  Holy  Eastertide, 
•Thy  fame  we  sing  and  pr-r-raise." 

While  under  arms  he  had  held  some  sort  of  office 
resembling  that  of  clerk  in  the  battalion  church,  and 
knew  a  countless  number  of  liturgical  snatches  and 
fragments,  the  knowledge  of  which  he  constantly 
abused  every  time  our  conversation  happened  to  flag. 

In  front  of  us  on  the  horizon  certain  forms  with 
soft  outlines  and  pleasant  shades  of  colour,  from  faint 
lilac  to  fresh  pink,  began  to  stand  forth  prominently. 


IN    THE    STEPPE.  33 

"  Evidently  those  are  the  Crimean  mountains,"  said 
"  the  student "  with  a  dry  voice. 

"Mountains?"  cried  the  soldier,  "it's  jolly  early 
yet  to  see  mountains.  They  are  clouds — simply 
clouds.  Don't  you  see — just  like  cranberry  vinegar 
with  milk." 

I  observed  that  it  would  be  in  the  highest  degree 
acceptable  if  they  were  clouds  and  did  indeed  consist 
of  cranberry  vinegar.  This  suddenly  awakened  our 
hunger — the  evil  of  our  days. 

"  Deuce  take  it !  "  growled  the  soldier,  spitting  a 
bit ;  "  if  only  we  could  fall  in  with  a  single  living 
soul!  There's  nobody  at  all!  We  shall  have  to  do 
as  the  bears  do  in  winter-time  and  suck  our  own  paws." 

"  I  said  we  ought  to  have  gone  towards  inhabited 
places,"  observed  "  the  student "  didactically. 

"  You  said,  did  you !  "  the  soldier  fired  up  at  once. 
"  Talk — that's  about  all  you  students  are  up  to ! 
What  sort  of  inhabited  places  are  there  here?  The 
Devil  knows  where  they  are." 

"  The  student "  was  silent,  he  only  pressed  his  lips 
tightly  together.  The  sun  was  setting,  and  the  clouds 
on  the  horizon  exhibited  a  play  of  colour  of  every 
shade  that  language  fails  to  grasp.  There  was  a 
smell  of  earth  and  of  salt  in  the  air,  and  this  dry 
and  tasty  smell  piqued  our  appetites  still  more. 

There  was  a  sucking  sensation  in  our  stomachs,  a 
strange  and  unpleasant  feeling.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
juice  was  gradually  trickling  out  of  every  muscle  in 


24  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

our  bodies — trickling  away  somewhither,  and  evapora- 
ting, and  that  our  muscles  were  losing  their  vital 
elasticity.  A  feeling  of  prickly  dryness  filled  the 
hollow  of  the  mouth  and  throat,  there1  was  a  dull 
sensation  in  our  heads,  and  dark  spots  really  arose 
and  flashed  before  our  eyes.  Sometimes  they  took 
the  form  of  steaming  pieces  of  meat — nourishing  beef. 
Memory  provided  these  "  visions  of  the  past,  dumb 
visions,"  with  their  own  peculiar  fragrance,  and  then  it 
was  just  as  if  a  knife  were  turning  round  in  our 
stomachs. 

We  went  along  all  the  same,  giving  one  another 
a  description  of  our  feelings,  casting  angry  sidelong 
glances  about  us  in  case  we  might  peradventure  per- 
ceive a  sheepfold,  and  listening  for  the  sharp  creak 
of  a  Tatar  arba*  carrying  fruit  to  the  Armenian 
bazaar. 

But  the  steppe  was  desolate  and  voiceless. 

On  the  eve  of  this  hard  day  we  three  had  eaten 
four  pounds  of  rye  bread  and  five  melons,  had  walked 
about  thirty-five  miles — our  income  was  scarcely  equal 
to  our  expenditure! — and  after  going  to  sleep  in  the 
bazaar  square  at  Perekop  were  awakened  by  hunger. 
"  The  student  "  had  very  properly  advised  us  not  to  lie 
down  to  sleep,  but  in  the  course  of  the  night  to  occupy 
ourselves  with  .  .  .  but  in  orderly  society  it  is  not 
considered  the  right  thing  openly  to  speak  of  any 
project  for  infringing  the  rights  of  property,  and  I  will 

*  A  two-wheeled  cart  used  in  the  Crimea. 


IN    THE    STEPPE.  25 

therefore  keep  silence.  I  only  want  to  be  just  and  not 
rude  to  others  even  in  my  own  interests.  I  know  that 
people  in  our  highly  cultured  days  are  becoming  more 
and  more  soft  hearted,  and  even  when  they  take 
their  neighbours  by  the  throat  with  the  obvious  in- 
tention of  throttling  them — they  try  to  do  it  with 
as  much  amiability  as  possible,  and  with  the  observ- 
ance of  all  the  consideration  which  the  circumstances 
will  admit  of.  The  experience!  of  my  own  throat 
has  caused  me  to  observe  this  progress  in  morals, 
and  I  maintain,  with  a  pleasant  feeling  of  conviction, 
that  everything  in  this  world  is  developing  towards 
perfection.  In  particular  this  remarkable  process  is 
solidly  established  every  year  by  the  growth  of  prisons, 
taverns,  and  tolerated  houses.  .  .  . 

Thus,  swallowing  the  spittle  of  hunger,  and 
endeavouring  by  friendly  conversation  to  blunt  the 
pangs  of  our  stomachs,  we  went  along  the  desolate 
and  silent  steppe — went  along  in  the  beautiful  rays 
of  the  setting  sun,  full  of  a  dull  hope  of  something  or 
other  turning  up.  In  front  of  us  the  setting  sun  was 
silently  vanishing  in  the  midst  of  soft  clouds  liberally 
embellished  by  his  rays,  and  behind  us  and  on  both 
sides  of  us  a  dove-coloured  mist,  rising  from  the  steppe 
into  the  sky,  fixed  unalterably  the  disagreeable 
horizon  surrounding  us. 

"  My  brothers,  let  us  collect  materials  for  a  camp 
fire,"  said  the  soldier,  picking  up  from  the  road  a 
chump  of  wood ;  "  we  shall  have  to  make  a  night 


a6  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

of  it  in  the  steppe,  and  the  dew  is  about  to  fall  .  .  . 
cow-dung,  twigs — take  anything !  " 

We  dispersed  on  the  road  in  various  directions, 
and  began  to  collect  dry  grass  and  everything  that 
could  possibly  burn.  Every  time  we  chanced  to 
bend  down  towards  the  ground  a  passionate  desire 
seized  upon  our  whole  body  to  lie  down  upon  the 
earth — lie  there  immovably  and  eat  the  fat  black 
stuff — eat  a  lot  of  it,  eat  till  we  could  eat  no  more,  and 
then  fall  asleep.  Only  to  eat ! — if  we  slept  for  ever- 
more afterwards — to  chew  and  chew  and  feel  the  thick 
warm  mash  flow  gradually  from  our  mouths  along 
our  dried-up  gullet  and  food  passages  into  our 
famished,  extenuated  stomachs,  burning  with  the 
desire  to  suck  up  some  sort  of  nutriment 

"  If  only  we  could  find  some  root  or  other!  '  sighed 
the  soldier ;  "  there  are  roots  you  can  eat,  you  know." 

But  in  the  black  furrowed  earth  there  were 
no  roots.  The  southern  night  came  on  quickly,  and 
the  last  ray  of  the  sun  had  scarce  disappeared  when 
the  stars  were  twinkling  in  the  dark  blue  sky,  and 
around  us,  more  and  more  solidly,  were  gathering  the 
dark  shadows,  and  a  smooth  blankness  engulfed  the 
whole  steppe. 

"  My  brothers,"  said  "  the  student,"  "  yonder  to  the 
left  a  man  is  lying." 

"  A  man?  " — the  soldier's  tone  was  dubious — "  what 
should  he  be  lying  there  for?" 

"  Go  and  ask.     He  must  certainly  have  bread  with 


IN    THE    STEPPE.  27 

him  if  he  lies  down  in  the  steppe,"  explained  "  the 
student" 

The  soldier  looked  in  the  direction  where  the  man 
lay,  and  spitting  with  decision,  said  : 

"  Let  us  go  to  him !  " 

Only  the  keen,  green  eyes  of  "  the  student "  could 
have  made  out  that  the  dark  patch  rising  up  some 
fifty  fathoms  to  the  left  of  the  road  was  a  man.  We 
went  towards  him,  quickly  stepping  over  the  ploughed- 
up  hummocks  of  earth,  and  we  felt  the  hope  of  food 
new-born  within  us  put  a  fresh  edge  upon  our 
hunger.  We  were  already  quite  close — the  man  did 
not  move. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  not  a  man  at  all !  " — the  soldier  had 
put  into  words  the  thought  common  to  us  all. 

But  our  doubts  were  resolved  that  selfsame  instant, 
for  the  heap  on  the  ground  suddenly  began  to  move, 
grew  in  size,  and  we  saw  that  it  was  a  real  living  man, 
now  on  his  knees  and  stretching  towards  us  an  arm. 

And  he  said  to  us  in  a  hollow,  tremulous  voice : 

"  Another  step — and  I  fire !  " 

A  short  and  dry  click  resounded  through  the  murky 
air. 

We  stopped  short,  as  if  at  the  word  of  command, 
and  were  silent  for  some  seconds,  dumfounded 
by  such  an  unpleasant  encounter. 

"  What  a  beast !  "  growled  the  soldier  expressively. 

"  Well,  I  never !  "  said  "  the  student,"  reflectively, 
"  to  go  about  with  a  revolver.  A  well-plucked  one 
evidently !  " 


28  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"  Aye !  "  cried  the  soldier,  "  pretty  resolute  too." 

The  man  never  changed  his  pose,  but  remained 
silent. 

"  Hie,  you  there !  We  won't  touch  you.  .  .  Only 
give  us  some  bread — got  any,  eh  ?  Give  us  some,  my 
brother,  for  Christ's  sake — be  anathema  accursed 
one!" 

The  last  words  of  the  soldier,  naturally,  were 
muttered  between  his  teeth. 

The  man  was  silent. 

"Do  you  hear?"  cried  the  soldier  again,  with  a 
spasm  of  rage  and  despair.  "  Give  us  bread,  we  pray 
you !  We  won't  go  near  to  you — throw  it  to  us !  " 

"  All  right !  "  said  the  man  curtly. 

He  might  have  said  "  my  dear  brethren !  "  and  if 
he  had  poured  into  these  three  Christian  words  the 
holiest  and  purest  feelings  they  would  not  have 
excited  us,  they  would  not  have  humanized  us  so  much 
as  did  that  short  and  hollow :  "  All  right !  " 

"  Do  not  be  afraid  of  us,  good  man !  "  began  the 
soldier  softly,  and  with  a  sweet  smile  on  his  face, 
although  the  man  could  not  have  seen  his  smile,  for 
he  was  at  least  twenty  paces  distant  from  us. 

"  We  are  peaceful  folks  .  .  .  we  are  going  from 
Russia  into  the  Kuban.  We  have  lost  our  money  on 
the  road,  we  have  eaten  all  our  provisions,  and  this  is 
now  the  second  four  and  twenty  hours  that  we  haven't 
tasted  a  morsel.  .  ." 

"  Catch !  "  said  the  good  man,  flinging  out  his  arm. 


IN    THE    STEPPE.  29 

A  black  morsel  flashed  towards  us  and  fell  on  a 
hummock  not  very  far  from  us.  "  The  student "  fell 
upon  it. 

"  Catch  again ! — again !     There  is  no  more !  " 

When  "the  student"  had  picked  up  this  original 
gift  it  appeared  that  we  had  four  pounds  of  stale 
wheaten  bread.  It  had  been  buried  in  the  earth 
and  was  very  stale.  The  first  piece  barely  arrested  our 
attention,  the  second  piece  pleased  us  very  much.  Stale 
bread  is  more  satisfying  than  fresh  bread,  there  is 
less  moisture  in  it. 

"  So — and  so — and  so !  "  said  the  soldier,  concentra- 
ting all  his  attention  on  the  division  of  the  morsels. 
"  Stay !  That's  fair,  I  think !  A  little  corner  ought  to 
be  nibbled  off  your  piece,  student,  for  his  " — he  meant 
mine — "  is  too  little." 

"  The  student,"  without  a  murmur,  submitted  to  the 
subtraction  from  his  portion  of  about  an  ounce  in 
weight.  I  snatched  it,  and  popped  it  into  my  mouth. 

I  began  to  chew  it,  chew  it  gradually,  scarce  able 
to  control  thd  convulsive  movement  of  my  jaws,  ready 
to  pulverize  a  stone.  It  afforded  me  a  keen  delight 
to  feel  the  jerky  throbs  of  my  gullet,  and  to  be  able, 
by  little  and  little,  to  gratify  it  with  little  rivulets  of 
nutriment.  Mouthful  after  mouthful,  warm  and  in- 
explicably, indescribably  tasty,  penetrated  at  last  to 
my  burning  stomach,  and  seemed  instantly  to  turn  into 
blood  and  muscle.  Delight,  such  a  strange,  calm,  and 
vivifying  delight,  warmed  my  heart  proportionately 


3o  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

to  the  filling  of  my  stomach,  and  my  general  condition 
was  similar  to  that  of  someone  half  asleep.  I  forgot 
all  about  those  accursed  days  of  chronic  hunger,  and 
I  forgot  about  my  comrades  engulfed  in  the  rapture 
of  those  very  feelings  which  I  myself  had  just 
experienced. 

But  when  I  had  cast  from  my  palm  into  my  mouth 
the  last  crumb  of  bread,  I  felt  a  mortal  desire  for  more. 

"  He  must  have  about  him — anathemas  smite  him ! 
— some  tallow  or  a  bit  of  meat,"  cried  the  soldier, 
sitting  down  on  the  ground  opposite  to  me  and 
rubbing  his  belly  with  his  hands. 

"  Certainly,  for  the  bread  has  a  smell  of  meat. 
.  .  .  Yes,  and  he  has  more  bread,  I'll  be  bound," 
said  "  the  student,"  and  he  added  very  quietly,  "  if 
only  he  hadn't  a  revolver !  " 

"Who  is  he,  I  wonder?" 

"  A  hound  ! "  said  the  soldier  decidedly. 

We  sat  together  in  a  close  group  and  cast  sidelong 
glances  in  the  direction  where  sat  our  benefactor  with 
his  revolver.  Not  a  sound,  not  a  sign  of  life  now 
proceeded  from  that  quarter. 

Night  had  assembled  her  dark  forces  all  around  us. 
Mortally  still  it  was  in  the  steppe  there — we  could 
hear  each  other's  breath.  Now  and  then  from  some- 
whither resounded  the  melancholy  whistle  of  the 
suslik*  .  .  .  The  stars,  the  bright  flowers  of 

*  The  earless  marmot  of  the  steppe. 


IN    THE    STEPPE.  31 

heaven,  shone  down  upon  us.  .  .  We  wanted  more 
to  eat. 

With  pride  I  say  it — 'I  was  neither  better  nor  worse 
than  my  casual  comrades  on  this  somewhat  strange 
night.  I  persuaded  them  to  get  up  and  go  towards 
this  man.  We  need  not  touch  him,  but  we  would  eat 
everything  we  found  upon  him.  He  would  fire — let 
him!  Out  of  three  of  us  only  one  could  fall,  even 
if  one  fell  at  all,  and  even  if  one  of  us  did 
fall,  a  mere  revolver  bullet  would  scarcely  be  the 
death  of  him. 

"  Let  us  go,"  said  the  soldier,  leaping  to  his  feet. 

"  The  student "  rose  to  his  feet  more  slowly  than 
the  soldier. 

And  we  went,  we  almost  ran.  "  The  student "  kept 
well  behind  us. 

"  Comrade !  "  cried  the  soldier  reproachfully. 

There  met  us  a  dull  report  and  the  sharp  sound 
of  a  snapping  trigger.  There  was  a  flash  and  the 
dry  report  of  a  firearm. 

"  It  is  over !  "  yelled  the  soldier  joyfully,  and  with  a 
single  bound  he  was  level  with  the  man.  "  Now,  you 
devil,  I  am  going  to  have  it  out  with  you." 

"  The  student "  flung  himself  on  the  knapsack. 

"  The  devil  "  fell  from  his  knees  on  to  his  back,  and 
stretching  out  his  arms  gave  forth  a  choking  sound. 

"  What  the  deuce !  "  cried  the  astonished  soldier  in 
the  very  act  of  raising  his  foot  to  give  the  man  a 
kick.  "What  is  he  groaning  for  like  that?  Hie! 


32  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

Hie  you!     What's  the  matter?     Have  you  shot  your- 
self or  what?" 

"  There's  meat  and  some  pancakes  and  bread — i 
whole  lot,  my  brothers !  " — and  the  voice  of  "  the 
student  "  crowed  with  delight. 

"  But  what  the  deuce  ails  him  ? — he  is  at  the  last 
gasp !  Come  then,  let  us  eat,  my  friends !  "  cried  the 
soldier.  I  had  taken  the  revolver  out  of  the  hand  of 
the  man  who  had  ceased  to  groan,  and  now  lay 
motionless.  There  was  only  a  single  cartridge  in  the 
cartridge-box. 

Again  we  ate — ate  in  silence.  The  man  also  lay 
there  in  silence,  not  moving  a  limb.  We  paid  no 
attention  to  him  whatever. 

"  My  brothers,  I  suppose  you  have  done  all  this 
simply  for  the  sake  of  bread  ?  "  suddenly  exclaimed 
a  hoarse  and  tremulous  voice. 

We  all  started.  "  The  student "  even  swallowed  a 
crumb,  and  bending  low  towards  the  ground  fell  a 
coughing. 

The  soldier  in  the  midst  of  his  chewing  became 
abusive. 

"  You  soul  of  a  dog !  Take  care  I  don't  hack  you 
like  a  clod  of  wood !  Or  would  you  prefer  us  to  flay 
you  alive,  eh? — It  was  ours  because  we  wanted  it 
Shut  your  foolish  mouth,  you  unclean  spirit!  A 
pretty  thing! — To  go  about  armed  and  fire  at  folks! 
May  you  be  anathema !  " 

He  cursed  while  he  ate,  and  for  that  reason  his 
cursing  lost  all  its  expression  and  force. 


IN    THE    STEPPE.  33 

"  Wait  till  we  have  eaten  our  fill  and  then  we'll  settle 
accounts  with  you,"  remarked  "  the  student "  viciously. 

And  then  through  the  silence  of  the  night  re- 
sounded a  wailing  cry  which  frightened  us. 

"  My  brothers  .  .  .  how  could  I  tell  ?  I  fired 
because  I  was  frightened.  I  am  going  from  New 
Athos  ...  to  the  Government  of  Smolensk 
.  .  .  Oh,  Lord!  The  fever  has  caught  me 
.  .  .  it  burns  me  up  like  the  sun  .  .  .  woe  is 
me!  Even  when  I  left  Athos  the  fever  was  upon 
me.  .  .  I  was  doing  some  carpenter's  work.  .  . 
I  am  a  carpenter  by  trade.  .  .  At  home  is  my  wife 
and  two  little  girls  .  .  .  for  three  or  four  years 
I  have  not  seen  them  .  .  .  my  brothers  .  .  . 
you  know  all !  " 

"  We  are  eating,  don't  bother,"  said  "  the  student." 

"  Lord  God !  if  only  I  had  known  that  you  were 
quiet  peaceable  folks  ...  do  you  think  I  would 
have  fired  ?  And  here  in  the  steppe  too,  at  night,  my 
brothers,  you  cannot  say  I  am  guilty,  surely?  " 

He  spoke  and  he  wept,  or  to  speak  more  accurately, 
he  uttered  a  sort  of  tremulous  terrified  howl 

"  He's  a  miser !  "  said  the  soldier  contemptuously. 

"  He  must  have  money  about  him,"  observed  "  the 
student" 

The  soldier  winked,  looked  at  him,  and  smiled. 

"  How  sharp  you  are  ...  I  say,  give  us  some 
of  the  firewood  here,  and  we'll  light  up  and  go  to 
sleep." 

C 


34  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"And  how  about  him?"  inquired  "the  student." 

"  The  deuce  take  him !  He  may  roast  himself  with 
us  if  he  likes — what  ?  " 

"  He  might  follow  us !  "  and  "  the  student  "  shook  his 
sharp  head. 

We  went  to  fetch  the  materials  we  had  collected, 
threw  them  down  where  the  carpenter  had  brought  us 
to  a  standstill  with  his  threatening  cry,  set  light  to 
them,  and  soon  were  sitting  round  a  bonfire.  It  burnt 
quietly  in  the  windless  night  and  lighted  up  the  tiny 
space  occupied  by  us.  We  ached  to  go  to  sleep, 
though  for  all  that  we  should  have  liked  a  little  more 
supper  first. 

"  My  brothers !  "  the  carpenter  called  to  us.  He 
was  lying  three  yards  off,  and  sometimes  it  seemed 
to  me  that  he  was  whispering  something. 

"Well!"  said  the  soldier. 

"  May  I  come  to  you — to  the  fire  ?  I  am  about  to 
die  ...  all  my  bones  are  broken.  Oh,  Lord! 
it  is  plain  to  me  that  I  shall  never  live  to  get 
home." 

"  Crawl  along  then," — it  was  "  the  student "  who 
decided. 

Very  gradually,  as  if  fearing  to  lose  hand  or  foot, 
the  carpenter  moved  along  the  ground  towards  the 
fire.  He  was  a  tall  and  frightfully  wasted  man,  every 
part  of  him  seemed  to  be  quivering,  and  his  large  dim 
eyes  expressed  the  pain  that  was  consuming  him. 
His  shrivelled  face  was  very  bony,  and  had  in  the 


IN    THE    STEPPE.  35 

light  of  the  fire  a  yellowish  earthy  cadaverous  colour. 
He  was  still  tremulous,  and  excited  our  contemptuous 
pity.  Stretching  his  long  thin  hands  towards  the 
fire,  he  rubbed  his  bony  fingers,  and  kneaded  their 
joints  slowly  and  wearily.  At  last  it  went  against 
us  to  look  at  him. 

"  What  do  you  cut  such  a  figure  for,  and  why  do 
you  go  on  foot  ? — to  save  expense,  eh  ?  "  asked  the 
soldier  surlily. 

"  I  was  so  advised  .  .  .  don't  go,  said  they,  by 
water,  but  go  by  way  of  the  Crimea,  for  the  air,  they 
said.  And  lo!  I  cannot  go,  I  am  dying,  my  brothers. 
I  shall  die  alone  in  the  steppe  .  .  .  the  birds  will 
pick  my  bones  and  nobody  will  know  about  it.  .  . 
My  wife  .  .  .  my  little  daughters  will  be  waiting 
for  me.  .  .  I  wrote  to  them  .  .  .  and  my 
bones  will  be  washed  by  the  rains  of  the  steppe.  .  . 
Lord,  Lord!" 

He  uttered  the  anguished  howl  of  a  wounded 
wolf. 

"  Oh,  the  devil !  "  cried  the  soldier,  waxing  wrath, 
and  springing  to  his  feet.  "  How  you  whine ! 
Can't  you  leave  folks  in  peace!  You're  dying, 
eh?  Well,  die  then,  and  hold  your  tongue.  .  . 
What  use  are  you  to  anyone  ?  Shut  up !  " 

"  Give  him  one  on  the  chump !  "  suggested  "  the 
student" 

"  Lie  down  and  sleep !  "  said  I,  "  and  if  you  want 
to  be  by  the  fire,  don't  howl,  really,  you  know  .  .  ." 


36  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"  Now  you  have  heard,"  said  the  soldier  savagely, 
"  pray  understand.  You  fancy  we  shall  pity  you  and 
pay  attention  to  you  because  you  flung  bread  to  us 
and  fired  bullets  at  us,  do  you?  You  sour-faced  devil 
you !  Others  would  have  .  .  .  Ugh !  " 

The  soldier  ceased  and  stretched  himself  on  the 
ground. 

"  The  student  "  was  already  lying  down.  I  lay  down 
too.  The  frightened  carpenter  huddled  himself  into 
a  heap,  and  edging  gradually  towards  the  fire  began  to 
look  at  it  in  silence.  I  lay  on  his  right,  and  heard 
how  his  teeth  chattered.  "  The  student "  lay  on  his 
left,  and  appeared  to  have  gone  to  sleep  straight  off 
after  rolling  himself  into  a  ball.  The  soldier,  placing 
his  hands  beneath  his  head,  lay  face  upwards,  and 
looked  at  the  sky. 

"  What  a  night,  eh  ? — what  a  lot  of  stars ! — and 
warm,  too !  "  said  he,  turning  to  me  after  a  time. 
"  What  a  sky — a  bed-top,  not  a  sky.  Friend,  I  love 
this  vagabond  life.  It  is  cold  and  hungry,  but  then 
it  is  as  free  as  the  air.  .  .  You  have  no  superior 
over  you  .  .  .  you  are  the  master  of  your  own 
life.  .  .  Though  you  bite  your  own  head  off, 
nobody  can  say  a  word  to  you.  .  .  It  is  good.  .  . 
I  have  been  very  hungry  and  very  angry  these  last 
few  days  .  .  .  and  now  I  am  lying  here  as  if 
nothing  had  happened  and  look  at  the  sky.  .  .  The 
stars  blink  at  me.  .  .  It  is  just  as  if  they  were 
saying  :  What  matters  it,  Lakutin  ;  go  and  know,  and 


IN    THE    STEPPE.  37 

be  subject  to  nobody  on  this  earth.  .  .  There  you 
are  .  .  .  my  heart  is  happy.  And  how  is  it  with 
you,  eh,  carpenter?  Don't  be  angry  with  me,  and 
fear  nothing.  We  ate  up  your  food,  I  know,  but  it 
doesn't  matter ;  you  had  food  and  we  had  none,  so 
we  ate  up  yours.  And  you  are  a  savage  fellow,  you 
go  about  firing  bullets.  Are  you  not  aware  that 
bullets  may  do  a  man  harm?  I  was  very  angry  with 
you  a  little  while  ago,  and  if  you  had  not  fallen  down 
I  should  have  well  trounced  you,  my  brother,  for  your 
cheek.  But  as  to  the  food — to-morrow  you  can  go 
back  to  Perekop  and  buy  some  there  .  .  .  you 
have  money  ...  I  know  it.  .  .  How  long  is 
it  since  you  caught  the  fever  ?  " 

For  a  long  time  the  deep  bass  of  the  soldier  and 
the  tremulous  voice  of  the  sick  carpenter  hummed  in 
my  ears.  The  night  was  dark,  almost  black,  obliter- 
ating everything  here  below,  and  a  fresh  sappy  breeze 
streamed  out  of  its  bosom. 

A  uniform  light  and  an  enlivening  warmth  pro- 
ceeded from  the  fire.  One's  eyes  closed  insensibly, 
and  before  them,  as  if  seen  through  a  vision,  passed 
something  soothing  and  purifying. 


"  Get  up !  awake !     Let  us  go !  " 

I  opened  my  eyes  with  a  feeling  of  terror  and 
quickly  sprang  to  my  feet,  the  soldier  helping  by 
pulling  me  violently  from  the  ground  by  the  arm. 


38  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"  Come,  look  alive !     March !  " 

His  face  was  grim  and  anxious.  I  looked  around 
me.  The  sun  was  rising,  and  his  rosy  rays  already 
lay  upon  the  immovable  and  dark  blue  face  of  the 
carpenter.  His  mouth  was  open,  his  eyes  projected 
far  out  of  their  sockets,  and  stared  with  a  glassy 
look  expressive  of  horror.  The  clothes  covering  his 
bosom  were  all  torn,  and  he  lay  in  an  unnatural, 
broken-up  sort  of  pose.  There  was  no  sign  of  "  the 
student." 

"Well,  have  you  looked  your  fill!  .  .  Come 
on,  I  say !  "  said  the  soldier  excitedly,  dragging  at  my 
sleeve. 

"  Is  he  dead  ? "  I  asked,  shivering  in  the  fresh 
morning  air. 

"  Certainly.  And  he  might  have  throttled  you 
.  .  .  and  you  might  have  died,"  explained  the 
soldier. 

"He!     Who?    'The  Student'?"  I  exclaimed 

"Well,  who  else?  It  wasn't  you,  eh?  And  I 
suppose  you  won't  say  it  was — me?  Well,  so  much 
for  your  bookworms!  He  managed  very  cleverly 
with  the  man  .  .  .  and  has  left  his  comrades  in 
the  lurch.  Had  I  suspected  it,  I  could  have  killed  '  the 
student '  yesterday  evening.  I  could  have  killed  him 
at  a  blow  .  .  .  Smash  with  my  fist  on  his  fore- 
head, and  there  would  have  been  one  blackguard  the 
less  in  the  world.  See  what  he  has  done,  and 
remember  it!  Now  we  must  move  on  so  that  not 


IN    THE    STEPPE. 


39 


a  human  eye  may  see  us  in  the  steppe.  Do  you 
understand?  Recollect,  we  came  upon  the  carpenter 
to-day,  throttled  and  plundered.  And  we'll  search  for 
our  brother  .  .  .  find  out  in  what  direction  he 
went,  and  where  he  passed  the  night.  Well,  suppose 
they  seize  us  ...  although  we  have  nothing  upon 
us  ...  except  his  revolver  in  my  bosom !  " 

"  Throw  it  away,"  I  advised  the  soldier. 

"  Throw  it  away  ?  "  said  he  thoughtfully,  "  why  it's 
a  precious  thing.  And  then,  too,  they  may  not  seize 
us  yet  ...  No,  I'll  not  chuck  it  ...  Who 
knows  that  the  carpenter  carried  arms?  I'll  not  chuck 
it  ...  It's  worth  three  roubles  .  .  .  And 
there's  a  bullet  in  it.  How  I  should  like  to  fire  this 
selfsame  bullet  into  the  ear  of  our  dear  comrade! 
I  wonder  how  much  money  he  filched,  the  hound! 
May  he  be  anathema !  " 

"  And  there  are  the  carpenter's  little  daughters !  " 
said  I. 

"Daughters?  What?  .  .  .  Well,  they'll  grow 
up,  and  it's  not  for  us  to  find  them  husbands ;  they 
don't  concern  us  at  all  ...  Let  us  go,  my 
brother,  quickly.  Whither  shall  we  go?  " 

"  I  don't  know     .     .     .     it's  all  one  to  me." 

"  And  I  don't  know,  and  I  know  it  is  all  one.  Let 
us  go  to  the  right  .  .  .  the  sea  must  be 
there." 

We  went  to  the  right. 

I  turned  to  look  back.     Far  away  from  us  in  the 


40  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

steppe  rose  a  dark  little  mound,  and  on  it  the  sun 
was  shining. 

"  Are  you  looking  to  see  whether  he  will  rise  again  ? 
Don't  be  afraid,  he  won't  rise  up  to  pursue  us.  The 
scholar  is  evidently  a  chap  up  to  a  dodge  or  two,  and 
dealt  with  the  case  thoroughly.  Well,  he  has  saddled 
us  with  it  finely.  And  our  comrade  too!  Ah,  my 
brother!  Folks  are  degenerating!  From  year  to 
year  they  degenerate*  more  and  more,"  observed  the 
soldier  sadly. 

The  steppe,  speechless  and  desolate,  flooded  by  the 
bright  morning  sun,  unfolded  itself  all  around  us, 
blending  on  the  horizon  with  the  sky,  so  bright  and 
friendly  and  lavish  of  light,  that  any  black  and 
iniquitous  deed  seemed  impossible  in  the  midst  of 
the  grand  spaciousness  of  that  free  expanse,  covered 
by  the  blue  cupola  of  heaven. 

"Feel  hungry,  brother?"  said  the  soldier,  twisting 
himself  a  cigarette  out  of  his  makharka* 

"  Where  are  we  going  to-day,  and  how  ?  " 

"  That's  the  question !  " 

***** 

Here  the  narrator — my  next  neighbour  in  the 
hospital  hammock — broke  off  his  story  and  said  to 
me : 

"  That's  all.  I  became  very  friendly  with  this 
soldier,  and  accompanied  him  all  the  way  to  the  Kars 

*  Peasant's  tobacco. 


IN    THE    STEPPE.  41 

District.  He  was  a  good  and  very  experienced  little 
fellow,  a  typical  barelegged  vagrant.  I  respected 
him.  We  went  together  all  the  way  to  Asia  Minor, 
and  then  we  lost  sight  of  each  other." 

"  Did  you  think  sometimes  of  the  carpenter?  "  I 
asked. 

"  As  you  see — or  as  you  hear." 

"  And  there  was  nothing  more  ?  " 

He   smiled. 

"  What  ought  my  feelings  to  have  been  in  such 
a  case — do  you  mean  that?  I  was  not  to  blame  for 
what  happened  to  him,  just  as  you  are  not  to  blame  for 
what  has  happened  to  me.  And  nobody  is  to  blame 
for  anything,  for  all  of  us  alike  are — beasts  of  the  same 
kidney." 


H._TWENTY-SIX   OF  US    AND   ONE 
OTHER.* 

THERE  were  twenty-six  of  us — twenty-six  living 
machines  shut  up  in  a  damp  cellar,  where  from  morn- 
ing to  evening,  we  kneaded  dough  to  make  cakes 
and  biscuits.  The  windows  of  our  cellar  looked  upon 
a  ditch  yawning  open  before  them  and  crammed  full 
of  bricks,  green  with  damp  ;  the  window-frames  were 
partly  covered  from  the  outside  by  an  iron  grating, 
and  the  light  of  the  sun  could  not  reach  us  through 
the  window-panes  covered  with  flour  dust.  Our 
master  had  closed  up  the  windows  with  iron  in  order 
that  we  might  not  give  away  a  morsel  of  his  bread 
to  the  poor,  or  to  those  of  our  comrades  who  were 
living  without  work,  and  therefore  starving ;  our 
master  called  us  galley-slaves,  and  gave  us  rotten 
entrails  for  dinner  instead  of  butcher's  meat. 

It  was  a  narrow,  stuffy  life  we  lived  in  that  stone 
cage  beneath  the  low  and  heavy  rafters  covered  with 
soot  and  cobwebs.  It  was  a  grievous  evil  life  we  lived 
within  those  thick  walls,  plastered  over  with  patches 

*  Written  in  1899. 


TWENTY-SIX  OF  US  AND  ONE   OTHER.     43 

of  dirt  and  mould  .  -.  .  .  We  rose  at  five  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  without  having  had  our  sleep  out, 
and — stupid  and  indifferent — at  six  o'clock  we  were 
sitting  behind  the  table  to  make  biscuits  from 
dough  already  prepared  for  us  by  our  comrades  while 
we  were  still  sleeping.  And  the  whole  day,  from  early 
morning  to  ten  o'clock  at  night,  some  of  us  sat  at  the 
table  kneading  the  yeasty  dough  and  rocking  to  and 
fro  so  as  not  to  get  benumbed,  while  the  others  mixed 
the  flour  with  water.  And  all  day  long,  dreamily  and 
wearily,  the  boiling  water  hummed  in  the  cauldron 
where  the  biscuits  were  steamed,  and  the  shovel  of 
the  baker  rasped  swiftly  and  evilly  upon  our  ears 
from  beneath  the  oven  as  often  as  it  flung  down  baked 
bits  of  dough  on  the  burning  bricks.  From  morning 
to  evening,  in  one  cornet  of  the  stove,  they  burned 
wood,  and  the  red  reflection  of  the  flames  flickered  on 
the  wall  of  the  workshop  as  if  silently  laughing  at 
us.  The  huge  stove  was  like  the  misshapen  head  of 
some  fairy-tale  monster — it  seemed  to  stick  out  from 
under  the  ground,  opening  its  wide  throat  full  of 
bright  fire,  breathing  hotly  upon  us,  and  regarding 
our  endless  labour  with  its  two  black  vent-holes  just 
over  its  forehead.  Those  two  deep  cavities  were  like 
eyes — the  passionless  and  pitiless  eyes  of  a  monster ; 
they  always  regarded  us  with  one  and  the  same  sort 
of  dark  look,  as  if  they  were  weary  of  looking  at  their 
slaves  and,  not  expecting  anything  human  from  us, 
despised  us  with  the  cold  contempt  of  worldly  wisdom. 


44  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

From  day  to  day  in  tormenting  dust,  in  dirt 
brought  in  by  our  feet  from  the  yard,  in  a  dense 
malodorous  steaming  vapour,  we  kneaded  dough  and 
made  biscuits,  moistening  them  with  our  sweat,  and 
we  hated  our  work  with  a  bitter  hatred  ;  we  never  ate 
of  that  which  came  forth  from  our  hands,  preferring 
black  bread  to  the  biscuits.  Sitting  behind  the  long 
table,  face  to  face  with  each  other,  nine  over  against 
nine,  we  mechanically  used  our  arms  and  fingers 
during  the  long  hours,  and  were  so  accustomed  to  our 
work  that  we  no  longer  noticed  our  own  movements. 
And  we  had  examined  one  another  so  thoroughly 
that  everyone  of  us  knew  all  the  wrinkles  in  the  faces 
of  his  comrades.  We  had  nothing  to  talk  about,  so 
we  got  accustomed  to  talking  about  nothing,  and  were 
silent  the  whole  time  unless  we  quarrelled — there  is 
always  a  way  to  make  a  man  quarrel,  especially  if  he 
be  a  comrade.  But  it  was  rarely  that  we  even  quarrelled 
— how  can  a  man  be  up  to  much  if  he  is  half 
dead,  if  he  is  like  a  figure-head,  if  his  feelings  are 
blunted  by  grievous  labour?  But  silence  is  only  a 
terror  and  a  torture  to  those  who  have  already  said 
all  they  have  to  say  and  can  say  no  more ;  but  for 
people  who  have  not  begun  to  find  their  voices,  silence 
is  simple  and  easy.  .  .  Sometimes,  however,  we 
sang;  it  came  about  in  this  way.  One  of  us  in  the 
midst  of  his  work  would  suddenly  whinny  like  a  tired 
horse  and  begin  to  croon  very  softly  one  of  those  pro- 
tracted ditties,  the  sadly  caressing  motif  of  which 


TWENTY-SIX  OF  US  AND  ONE   OTHER.     45 

always  lightens  the  heaviness  of  the  singer's  soul.  One 
of  us  would  begin  singing,  I  say,  and  the  rest  would,  at 
first,  merely  listen  to  his  lonely  song,  and  beneath  the 
heavy  roof  of  the  cellar  his  song  would  flicker  and  die 
out  like  a  tiny  camp-fire  in  the  steppe  on  a  grey  autumn 
night  when  the  grey  sky  hangs  over  the  earth  like  a 
leaden  roof.  Presently  the  first  singer  would  be 
joined  by  another,  and  then  two  voices,  softly  and 
sadly,  would  float  upwards  from  the  stifling  heat  of  our 
narrow  ditch.  And  then,  suddenly,  several  voices 
together  would  lay  hold  of  the  song,  and  the  song  would 
swell  forth  like  a  wave,  and  become  stronger  and  more 
sonorous,  and  seem  to  amplify  the  heavy  grey  walls 
of  our  stony  prison. 

And  so  it  came  about  that  the  whole  six-and-twenty 
of  us  would  find  ourselves  singing — our  sustained, 
sonorous  concert  would  fill  the  work-room,  and  the 
song  would  seem  not  to  have  room  enough  therein. 
It  would  beat  against  the  stone  wall,  wail,  weep,  stir 
within  the  benumbed  heart  the  sensation  of  a  gentle 
tickling  ache,  re-open  old  wounds  in  it,  and  awake 
it  to  anguish.  The  singers  would  sigh  deeply  and 
heavily  ;  one  of  them  would  unexpectedly  break  off  his 
own  song  and  listen  to  the  singing  of  his  comrades,  and 
then  his  voice  would  blend  once  more  with  the 
common  billow  of  sound.  Another  of  us,  perhaps, 
would  utter  an  anguished  "  Ah !  "  and  then  continue 
singing  with  fast-closed  eyes.  No  doubt  the  broad 
dense  wave  of  sound  presented  itself  to  his  mind 


46  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

as  a  road  stretching  far,  far  away — a  broad  road  lit 
up  by  the  bright  sun,  with  he  himself  walking  along 
that  road.  .  . 

And  all  the  time  the  flame  of  the  furnace  was 
flickering  and  the  baker's  shovel  was  harshly  scraping 
the  brick  floor,  and  the  boiling  water  was  humming  in 
the  cauldron,  and  the  reflection  of  the  fire  was  quiver- 
ing on  the  wall  and  laughing  at  us  noiselessly.  .  . 
And  we  were  wailing  forth  in  the  words  of  others 
our  dull  misery,  the  heavy  anguish  of  living  beings 
deprived  of  the  sun,  the  anguish  of  slaves.  Thus  we 
lived,  twenty-six  of  us,  in  the  cellar  of  a  large  stone 
house,  and  life  was  as  grievous  to  us  as  if  all  the 
three  upper  storeys  of  this  house  had  been  built  right 
upon  our  very  shoulders. 


But,  besides  the  singing,  we  had  one  other  good 
thing — a  thing  we  set  great  store  by  and  which, 
possibly,  stood  to  us  in  the  place  of  sunshine.  In 
the  second  storey  of  our  house  was  a  gold-embroidery 
factory,  and  amongst  the  numerous  factory  girls  em- 
ployed there  was  a  damsel  sixteen  years  old, 
Tanya  by  name.  Every  morning  she  would  come  to 
the  little  window  pierced  through  the  door  in  the 
wall  of  our  workshop,  and  pressing  against  it  her  tiny 
rosy  face,  with  its  merry  blue  eyes,  would  cry 
to  us  with  a  musical,  friendly  voice :  "  Poor  little 
prisoners !  give  me  some  little  biscuits !  " 


TWENTY-SIX  OF  US  AND  ONE   OTHER.     47 

All  of  us  would  instantly  turn  round  at  the 
familiar  sound  of  that  bright  voice,  and  gaze  good- 
naturedly  and  joyously  at  the  pure  virginal  little  face 
smiling  upon  us  so  gloriously.  It  became  a  usual 
and  very  pleasant  thing  for  us  to  see  the  little  nose 
pressed  against  the  window-pane,  to  see  the  tiny  white 
teeth  gleaming  from  under  the  rosy  lips  parted  by  a 
smile.  There  would  then  be  a  general  rush  to  open 
the  door,  each  one  trampling  upon  his  fellows  in  his 
haste,  and  then  in  she  would  come,  always  so  bright 
and  pleasant,  and  stand  before  us,  her  head  perched 
a  little  on  one  side,  holding  up  her  apron  and  smiling 
all  the  time.  The  long  thick  locks  of  her  chestnut 
hair,  falling  across  her  shoulders,  lay  upon  her  breast 
We  dirty,  grimy,  misshapen  wretches  stood  there 
looking  up  at  her — the  threshold  of  the  door  was  four 
steps  above  the  level  of  the  floor — we  had  to  raise 
our  heads  to  look  at  her,  we  would  wish  her  good 
morning,  and  would  address  her  in  especial  language 
— the  words  seemed  to  come  to  us  expressly  for  her 
and  for  her  alone.  When  we  conversed  with  her 
our  voices  were  gentler  than  usual,  and  our  jests  were 
less  rough.  We  had  quite  peculiar  and  different 
manners — and  all  for  her.  The  baker  would  take  out 
of  the  oven  a  shovelful  of  the  ruddiest,  best  toasted 
biscuits,  and  skilfully  fling  them  into  Tanya's  apron. 

"  Take  care  you  don't  fall  into  the  clutches  of  the 
master !  "  we  would  always  caution  her.  And  she, 
roguishly  laughing,  would  call  to  us :  "  Good-bye, 


48  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

little   prisoners,"    and   vanish  as   quickly  as   a  little 
mouse. 

Only — long  after  her  departure,  we  would  talk 
pleasantly  about  her  among  ourselves ;  we  always 
said  the  same  thing,  and  we  said  it  late  and  early, 
because  she  and  we  and  everything  around  us  was 
always  the  same  early  and  late.  It  is  a  heavy  torment 
for  a  man  to  live  where  everything  around  him  is 
unchanging,  and  if  this  does  not  kill  the  soul  within 
him,  the  longer  he  lives  the  more  tormenting  will 
the  immobility  of  his  environment  become.  We  always 
spoke  of  women  in  such  a  way  that  sometimes  it  went 
against  the  grain  with  us  to  listen  to  our  own 
coarse,  shameful  speeches,  and  it  will  be  understood 
that  the  sort  of  women  we  knew  were  unworthy  to 
be  alluded  to  in  any  other  way.  But  we  never  spoke 
ill  of  Tanya.  None  of  us  ever  permitted  himself  to 
lay  so  much  as  a  finger  upon  her ;  nay,  more,  she 
never  heard  a  loose  jest  from  any  of  us.  Possibly  this 
was  because  she  never  remained  very  long  with  us  :  she 
twinkled  before  our  eyes  like  a  star  falling  from  heaven 
and  vanished  ;  but,  possibly  also,  it  was  because  she  was 
so  tiny  and  so  very  pretty,  and  everything  beautiful 
awakens  respect  for  it  even  in  coarse  people.  And 
there  was  something  else.  Although  our  prison-like 
labour  had  made  dull  brutes  of  us,  for  all  that  we  were 
still  human  beings,  and,  like  all  human  beings,  we  could 
not  live  without  worshipping  something  or  other.  We 
had  nothing  better  than  she,  and  nobody  but  she 


TWENTY-SIX  OF  US  AND  ONE   OTHER.    49 

took  any  notice  of  us  who  lived  in  that  vault ;  nobody, 
though  scores  of  people  lived  in  that  house.  And 
finally — and  that,  after  all,  was  the  chief  thing — 
we  all  of  us  accounted  her  as  in  some  sort  our  own, 
as,  in  some  sort,  only  existing  thanks  to  our  biscuits ; 
we  looked  upon  it  as  our  duty  to  give  her  biscuits 
piping  hot,  and  this  became  to  us  a  daily  sacrifice 
to  our  idol ;  it  became  almost  a  sacred  office,  and 
every  day  bound  us  to  her  more  and  more.  Besides 
the  biscuits  we  gave  to  Tanya  a  good  deal  of  advice 
— she  was  to  put  on  warmer  clothes,  not  run  rapidly 
upstairs,  not  to  carry  heavy  loads  of  wood.  She 
listened  to  our  advice  with  a  smile,  responded  to 
it  with  laughter,  and  never  followed  it  at  all ;  but  we 
were  not  offended  with  her  on  that  account,  we  only 
wanted  to  show  her  that  we  were  taking  care  of  her. 

Sometimes  she  asked  us  to  do  different  things  for 
her ;  such,  for  instance,  as  to  open  the  heavy  cellar 
door,  to  chop  up  wood  and  so  on,  and  we  joyfully, 
nay,  with  a  sort  of  pride,  did  for  her  all  that  she 
asked  us  to  do. 

But,  once,  when  one  of  us  asked  her  to  mend  his  only 
shirt,  she  sniffed  contemptuously  and  said :  "  What 
next!  do  you  think  I've  nothing  better  to  do." 

We  laughed  heartily  at  the  silly  fellow — and  never 
asked  her  to  do  anything  more.  We  loved  her — 
and  when  that  is  said  all  is  said.  A  man  always 
wants  to  lay  his  love  upon  someone,  although  some- 
time he  may  crush  her  beneath  the  weight  of  it,  and 

D 


50  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

sometimes  he  may  soil  her ;  he  may  poison  the  life  of 
his  neighbour  with  his  love,  because  in  loving  he 
does  not  revere  the  beloved.  We  were  obliged  to  love 
Tanya  because  we  had  none  else  to  love. 

At  times  one  or  other  of  us  would  begin  to  reason 
about  it  like  this :  "  Why  are  we  spoiling  the  wench 
like  this?  What  is  there  in  her  after  all ?  Eh?  We 
are  making  a  great  deal  of  fuss  about  her !  " 

The  fellow  who  ventured  to  use  such  language 
was  pretty  roughly  snubbed,  I  can  tell  you.  We 
wanted  something  to  love,  we  had  found  what 
we  wanted,  and  we  loved  it ;  and  what  we  six- 
and-twenty  loved  was  bound  to  be  inviolate,  because 
it  was  our  holy  shrine,  and  everyone  who  ran  contrary 
to  us  in  this  matter  was  our  enemy.  No  doubt  people 
often  love  what  is  not  really  good — but  here  we  were, 
all  twenty-six  of  us,  in  the  same  boat,  and  therefore 
what  we  considered  dear  we  would  have  others  regard 
as  sacred 

***** 

Besides  the  biscuit  factory  our  master  had  a  fancy- 
bakery;  it  was  located  in  the  same  house,  and  only 
separated  from  our  hole  by  a  wall ;  but  the  fancy- 
bakers — there  were  four  'of  them — kept  us  at  arm's- 
length,  considering  their  work  as  cleaner  than  ours, 
and  for  that  reason  considering  themselves  as  better 
than  we.  So  they  did  not  come  into  our  workshop, 
and  laughed  contemptuously  at  us  when  they  met  us 
in  the  yard.  We,  too,  did  not  go  to  them ;  our 


TWENTY-SIX  OF  US  AND  ONE   OTHER.     51 

master  had  forbidden  us  to  do  so  for  fear  we 
should  steal  the  milk  scones.  We  did  not  like 
the  fancy-bakers  because  we  envied  them.  Their 
work  was  lighter  than  ours ;  they  got  more  than 
we  did  and  were  better  fed ;  they  had  a  spacious, 
well-lighted  workshop,  and  they  were  all  so  clean 
and  healthy — quite  the  opposite  to  us.  We  indeed, 
the  whole  lot  of  us,  looked  greyish  or  yellowish ; 
three  of  us  were  suffering  from  disease,  others 
from  consumption,  one  of  us  was  absolutely 
crippled  by  rheumatism.  They,  on  feast-days  and  in 
their  spare  time,  put  on  pea-jackets  and  boots  that 
creaked ;  two  of  them  had  concertinas,  and  all  of 
them  went  strolling  in  the  Park — we  went  about  in 
little  better  than  dirty  rags,  with  down-at-heel 
slippers  or  bast  shoes  on  our  feet,  and  the  police 
would  not  admit  us  into  the  Park — how  could  we 
possibly  love  the  fancy-bakers? 

Presently  we  heard  that  their  overseer  had  taken 
to  drink,  that  the  master  had  dismissed  him  and  hired 
another,  and  that  this  other  was  a  soldier  who  went 
about  in  a  rich  satin  waistcoat,  and  on  great  occasions 
wore  a  gold  chain.  We  were  curious  to  see  such 
a  toff,  and,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  him,  took  it  in 
turns  to  run  out  into  the  yard  one  after  the  other. 

But  he  himself  appeared  in  our  workshop.  He 
kicked  at  the  door,  it  flew  open,  and,  keeping  it  open, 
he  stood  on  the  threshold,  smiled,  and  said  to  us: 
"  God  be  with  you !  I  greet  you,  my  children !  " 


52  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

The  frosty  air,  rushing  through  the  door  in  thick 
smoky  clouds,  whirled  round  his  feet,  and  there  he 
stood  on  the  threshold  looking  down  upon  us  from  his 
eminence,  and  from  beneath  his  blonde,  skilfully 
twisted  moustaches  gleamed  his  strong  yellow  teeth. 
His  vest  really  was  something  quite  out  of  the  common 
— it  was  blue,  embroidered  with  flowers,  and  had 
a  sort  of  sparkle  all  over  it,  and  its  buttons  were  made 
of  pretty  little  pearls.  And  the  gold  chain  was 
there  .  .  . 

He  was  handsome,  that  soldier  was,  quite  tall, 
robust,  with  ruddy  cheeks,  and  his  large  bright  eyes 
looked  good  and  friendly  and  clear.  On  his  head 
was  a  white  stiffly  starched  cap,  and  from  beneath 
his  clean  spotless  spats  appeared  the  bright  tops  of 
his  modish  brilliantly  polished  boots. 

Our  baker  asked  him,  respectfully,  to  shut  the  door. 
He  did  so,  quite  deliberately,  and  began  asking  us 
questions  about  our  master.  We  outdid  each  other 
in  telling  him  that  our  master  was  a  blood-sucker, 
a  slave-driver,  a  malefactor,  and  a  tormentor;  every- 
thing in  short  that  we  could  and  felt  bound  to  say 
about  our  master,  but  it  is  impossible  to  write  it  down 
here.  The  soldier  listened,  twirled  his  moustache, 
and  regarded  us  with  a  gentle,  radiant  look. 

"  And  I  suppose  now  you've  a  lot  of  little  wenches 
about  here  ?  "  he  suddenly  said. 

Some  of  us  laughed  respectfully,  others  made 
languishing  grimaces ;  one  of  us  made  it  quite  clear 


TWENTY-SIX  OF  US  AND  ONE  OTHER.     53 

to  the  soldier  that  there  were  wenches  here — a  round 
dozen  of  them. 

"Do  you  amuse  yourselves?"  asked  the  soldier, 
blinking  his  eyes. 

Again  we  laughed,  not  very  loudly,  and  with  some 
confusion  of  face  .  .  .  Many  of  us  would  have 
liked  to  show  the  soldier  that  they  were  as  dashing 
fellows  as  himself,  but  none  dared  to  do  so ;  no,  not 
one.  One  of  us  indeed  hinted  as  much  by  murmur- 
ing :  "  Situated  as  we  are  .  .  ." 

"Yes,  of  course1,  it  would  be  hard  for  you!"  ob- 
served the  soldier  confidentially,  continuing  to  stare 
at  us.  "You  ought  to  be — well,  not  what  you  are. 
You're  down  on  your  luck — there's  a  way  of  holding 
one's  self — there's  the  look  of  the  thing — you  know 
what  I  mean!  And  women  you  know  like  a  man 
with  style  about  him.  He  must  be  a  fine  figure  of 
a  man — everything  neat  and  natty  you  know.  And 
then,  too,  a  woman  respects  strength.  Now  what 
do  you  think  of  that  for  an  arm,  eh  ?  " 

The  soldier  drew  his  right  arm  from  his  pocket, 
with  the  shirt-sleeve  stripped  back,  bare  to  the  elbow, 
and  showed  it  to  us.  It  was  a  strong,  white  arm, 
bristling  with  shiny,  gold-like  hair. 

"  Legs  and  breast  the  same — plenty  of  grit  there, 
eh  ?  Arid  then,  too,  a  man  must  be  stylishly  dressed, 
and  must  have  nice  things.  Now  look  at  me — all  the 
women  love  me !  I  neither  call  to  them  nor  wink  at 
them — they  come  falling  on  my  neck  by  the  dozen." 


54  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

He  sat  down  on  a  flour-basket  and  discoursed  to 
us  for  a  long  time  about  how  the  women  loved 
him,  and  how  valiantly  he  comported  himself  with 
them.  After  he  had  gone,  and  when  the  creaking 
door  had  closed  behind  him,  we  were  silent  for  a  long 
time,  thinking  of  him  and  of  his  yarns.  And  after 
a  bit  we  suddenly  all  fell  a-talking  at  once,  and  agreed 
unanimously  that  he  was  a  very  pleasant  fellow.  He 
was  so  straightfonvard  and  jolly — he  came  and  sat 
down  and  talked  to  us  just  as  if  he  were  one  of 
us.  No  one  had  elver  come  and  talked  to  us  in  such 
a  friendly  way  before.  And  we  talked  of  him  and 
of  his  future  successes  with  the  factory  girls  at  the 
gold-embroiderer's,  who,  whenever  they  met  us  in  the 
yard,  either  curled  their  lips  contemptuously,  or  gave 
us  a  wide  berth,  or  walked  straight  up  to  us  as  if 
we  were  not  in  their  path  at  all.  And  as  for  us, 
we  only  feasted  our  eyes  upon  them  when  we  met 
them  in  the  yard,  or  when  they  passed  by  our  window, 
dressed  in  winter  in  peculiar  little  fur  caps  and  fur 
pelisses,  and  in  summer  in  hats  covered  with  flowers, 
and  with  sunshades  of  various  colours  in  their  hands. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  among  ourselves,  we  talked 
of  these  girls  in  such  a  way  that,  had  they  heard  it, 
they  would  have  gone  mad  with  rage  and  shame.  .  . 

"  But  how  about  little  Tanya — I  hope  he  won't 
spoil  her !  "  said  our  chief  baker  suddenly  with  a 
gloomy  voice. 

We   were  all  silent,   so  greatly  had   these  words 


TWENTY-SIX  OF  US  AND  ONE   OTHER.     55 

impressed  us.  We  had  almost  forgotten  about 
Tanya :  the  soldier  had  shut  her  out  from  us,  as  it 
were,  with  his  fine  burly  figure1.  Presently  a  noisy 
dispute  began.  Some  said  that  Tanya  would  not 
demean  herself  by  any  such  thing ;  others  maintained 
that  she  would  be  unable  to  stand  against  the  soldier ; 
finally,  a  third  party  proposed  that  if  the  soldier 
showed  any  inclination  to  attach  himself  to  Tanya, 
we  should  break  his  ribs.  And,  at  last,  we  all  resolved 
to  keep  a  watch  upon  the  soldier  and  Tanya,  and 
warn  the  girl  to  beware  of  him  .  .  .  And  so  the 
dispute  came  to  an  end. 


A  month  passed  by.  The  soldier  baked  his  fancy- 
rolls,  walked  out  with  the  factory  girls,  and  frequently 
paid  us  a  visit  in  our  workshop,  but  of  his  victories  over 
the  wenches  he  said  never  a  word,  but  only  twirled 
his  moustaches  and  noisily  smacked  his  lips. 

Tanya  came  to  us  every  morning  for  her  "  little 
biscuits,"  and  was  always  merry,  gentle,  and  friendly 
with  us.  We  tried  to  talk  to  her  about  the  soldier — 
she  called  him  "  the  goggle-eyed  bull-calf,"  and  other 
ridiculous  names,  and  that  reassured  us.  We  were 
proud  of  our  little  girl  when  we  saw  how  the  factory 
girls  clung  to  the  soldier.  Tanya's  dignified  attitude 
towards  him  seemed  to  raise  the  whole  lot  of  us,  and  we, 
as  the  directors  of  her  conduct,  even  began  to  treat 


56  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

the  soldier  himself  contemptuously.  But  her  we  loved 
more  than  ever,  her  we  encountered  each  morning 
more  and  more  joyfully  and  good-humouredly. 

But  one  day  the  soldier  came  to  us  a  little  the 
worse  for  liquor,  he  sat  him  down,  began  laughing, 
and  when  we  asked  him  what  he  was  laughing  about, 
he  explained : 

"  Two  of  the  wenches  have  been  quarrelling  about 
me,  Liddy  and  Gerty,"  said  he.  "  How  they  did 
blackguard  each  other!  Ha,  ha,  ha!  They  caught 
each  other  by  the  hair,  and  were!  down  on  the  floor 
in  a  twinkling,  one  on  the  top  of  the  other ;  ha,  ha, 
ha!  And  they  tore  and  scratched  like  anything,  and 
I  was  nearly  bursting  with  laughter.  Why  can't 
women  fight  fair?  Why  do  they  always  scratch, 
eh?" 

He  was  sitting  on  the  bench  ;  there  he  sat  so  healthy, 
clean,  and  light-hearted,  and  roared  with  laughter. 
We  were  silent.  Somehow,  or  other,  he  was  disagree- 
able to  us  at  that  moment. 

"  No,  I  can't  make  it  out.  What  luck  I  do  have 
with  women,  it  is  ridiculous.  I've  but  to  wink,  and 
— she  is  ready.  The  d-deuce  is  in  it." 

His  white  arms,  covered  with  shining  gold  down, 
rose  in  the  air  and  fell  down  again  on  his  knees 
with  a  loud  bang.  And  he  regarded  us  with  such  a 
friendly  look  of  amazement,  just  as  if  he  himself 
were  frankly  puzzled  by  the  felicity  of  his  dealings 
with  women.  His  plump,  ruddy  face  regularly  shone 


TWENTY-SIX  OF  US  AND  ONE  OTHER.     57 

with  happiness  and  self-complacency,  and  he  kept  on 
noisily  smacking  his  lips. 

Our  chief  baker  scraped  his  shovel  along  the 
hearth  violently  and  angrily,  and  suddenly  remarked, 
with  a  sneer : 

"  It  is  no  great  feat  of  strength  to  fell  little  fir-trees, 
but  to  fell  a  full-grown  pine  is  a  very  different 
matter  .  .  ." 

"  Is  that  meant  for  me,  now?"  queried  the  soldier. 

"  It  is  meant  for  you." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Nothing    .    .     .    Never  mind." 

"  Nay,  stop  a  bit !  What's  your  little  game  ? 
What  pine-tree  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Our  master-baker  didn't  answer,  he  was  busily 
working  with  his  shovel  at  the  stove,  shovelled  out 
the  well-baked  biscuits,  sifted  those  that  were  ready, 
and  flung  theim  boisterously  on  to  the  floor  to  the 
lads  who  were  arranging  them  in  rows  on  the  bast 
wrappings.  He  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  soldier 
and  his  talk  with  him.  But  the  soldier  suddenly 
became  uneasy.  He  rose  to  his  feet  and  approached 
the  stove,  running  the  risk  of  a  blow  in  the  chest 
from  thes  handle  of  the  shovel  which  was  whirling 
convulsively  in  the  air. 

"  Come,  speak — what  she  did  you  mean  ?  You  have 
insulted  me.  Not  a  single  she  shall  ever  get  the  better 
of  me,  n-rio — I  say.  And  then,  too,  you  used  such 
offensive  words  to  me  ." 


58  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

He  really  seemed  to  be  seriously  offended.  No 
doubt  he  had  but  a  poor  opinion  of  himself  except 
on  this  one  point :  his  ability  to  win  women. 
Possibly,  except  this  one  quality,  there  was  nothing 
really  vital  in  the  man  at  all,  and  only  this  single 
quality  allowed  him  to  feel  himself  a  living  man. 

There!  are  people  who  look  upon  some  disease, 
either  of  the  body,  or  of  the  soul,  as  the  best  and 
most  precious  thing  in  life.  They  nurse  it  all  their 
lives,  and  only  in  it  do  they  live  at  all.  Though 
they  suffer  by  it,  yet  they  live  upon  it.  They  com- 
plain of  it  to  other  people,  and  by  means  of  it 
attract  to  themselvels  the  attention  of  their  neigh- 
bours. They  use  it  as  a  means  of  obtaining  sympathy, 
and  without  it — they  are  nothing  at  all.  Take  away 
from  them  this  disease,  cure  them,  and  they  will  be  un- 
happy because  they  are  deprived  of  the  only  means  of 
living — there  they  stand  empty.  Sometimes  the  life 
of  a  man  is  poor  to  such  a  degree  that  he  is  in- 
voluntarily obliged  to  put  a  high  value  on  some  vice, 
and  live  thereby;  indeed,  we  may  say  straight  out 
that  very  often  people  become  vicious  from  sheer 
ennui. 

The  soldier  was  offended,  rushed  upon^our  master- 
baker,  and  bellowed  :  "  Come,  I  say — speak  out !  Who 
was  it?" 

"  Speak  out,  eh?  " — and  the  master-baker  suddenly 
turned  round  upon  him. 

"Yes!— Well?" 


TWENTY-SIX  OF  US  AND  ONE  OTHER.  59 

"  Do  you  know  Tanya  ?  " 

"Well!" 

"  Well,  there  you  are ! — try  her !  " 

"I?" 

"  You." 

"  Pooh !     That's  nothing." 

"  Let  us  see !  " 

"You  shall  see.     Ha-ha-ha!" 

"She  look  at  you!" 

"  Give  me  a  month !  " 

"  What  a  braggart  you  are,  soldier !  " 

"  A  fortnight !  I'll  show  you.  Who's  she  ?  Little 
Tanya !  Pooh !  " 

"  And  now  be  off ! — you're  in  the  way." 

"  A  fortnight,  I  say — and  the  thing's  done.  Poor 
you,  I  say !  " 

"Be  off,  I  say." 

Our  baker  suddenly  grew  savage,  and  flourished 
his  shovel.  The  soldier  backed  away  from  him  in 
astonishment,  and  observed  us  in  silence.  "  Good !  " 
he  said  at  last  with  ominous  calmness — and  departed. 

During  the  dispute  we  all  remained  silent,  we  were 
too  deeply  interested  in  it  to  speak.  But  when  the 
soldier  departed,  there  arose  from  among  us  a  loud 
and  lively  babble  of  voices. 

Someone  shrieked  at  the  baker :  "  A  pretty  business 
you've  set  a-going,  Paul !  " 

"  Go  on  working,  d'ye  hear !  "  replied  the  master- 
baker  fiercely. 


60  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

We  felt  that  the  soldier  would  make  the  assault, 
and  that  Tanya  was  in  danger.  We  felt  this,  and 
yet  at  the  same  time  we  were  all  seized  by  a  burning 
curiosity  that  was  not  unpleasant — what  would 
happen?  Would  Tanya  stand  firm  against  the 
soldietr?  And  almost  all  of  us  cried,  full  of  con- 
fidence : 

"Little  Tanya?  She'll  stand  firm  enough!" 
We  had  all  of  us  a  frightful  longing  to  put  the 
fortitude  of  our  little  idol  to  the  test.  We  excitedly 
proved  to  each  other  that  our  little  idol  was  a  strong 
little  idol,  and  would  emerge  victorious  from  this 
encounter.  It  seemed  to  us,  at  last,  that  we  had  not 
egged  on  our  soldier  enough,  that  he  was  forgetting 
the  contest,  and  that  we  ought  to  spur  his  vanity 
just  a  little  bit.  From  that  day  forth  we  began  to 
live  a  peculiar  life,  at  high  nervous  tension,  such  as 
we  had  never  lived  before.  We  quarrelled  with  each 
other  for  days  together,  just  as  if  we  had  all  grown 
wiser,  and  were  able  to  talk  more  and  better.  It 
seemed  to  us  as  if  we  were  playing  a  sort  of  game 
with  the  Devil,  and  the  stake  on  our  part  was — Tanya. 
And  when  we  heard  from  the  fancy-bread-bakers  that 
the  soldier  had  begun  "  to  run  after  our  little  Tanya," 
it  was  painfully  well  with  us,  and  so  curious  were  we 
to  live  it  out,  that  we  did  not  even  observe  that  our 
master,  taking  advantage  of  our  excitement,  had  added 
14  poods*  of  paste  to  our  daily  task.  We  practically 

*  560  ibs. 


TWENTY-SIX  OF  US  AND  ONE   OTHER.    61 

never  left  off  working  at  all.  The  name  of  Tanya 
never  left  our  tongues  all  day.  And  every  morning 
we  awaited  her  with  a  peculiar  sort  of  impatience. 

Nevertheless  we  said  not  a  word  to  her  of  the_ con- 
test actually  proceeding.  We  put  no  questions  to 
her,  and  were  kind  and  affectionate  to  her  as  before. 
Yet  in  our  treatment  of  her  there  had  already  crept 
in  something  new  and  strangely  different  to  our 
former  feeling  for  Tanya — and  this  new  thing  was  a 
keen  curiosity,  keen  and  cold  as  a  steel  knife. 

"  My  friends,  the  time's  up  to-day,"  said  the  master- 
baker  one  morning  as  he  set  about  beginning  his  work. 

We  knew  that  well  enough  without  any  reminder 
from  him,  but  we  trembled  all  the  same. 

"  Look  at  her  well,  she'll  be  here  immediately,"  con- 
tinued the  baker. 

Someone  exclaimed  compassionately : 

"  As  if  eyes  could  see  anything !  " 

And  again  a  lively,  stormy  debate  arose  among  us. 
To-day  we  were  to  know  at  last  how  clean  and 
inviolable  was  the  vessel  in  which  we  had  placed 
our  best  That  morning,  all  at  once  and  as  if  for 
the  first  time,  we  began  to  feel  that  we  were  really 
playing  a  great  game,  and  that  this  test  of  the  purity 
of  our  divinity  might  annihilate  it  altogether  so  far  as 
we  were  concerned.  We  had  all  heard  during  the 
last  few  days  that  the  soldier  was  obstinately  and  per- 
sistently persecuting  Tanya,  yet  how  was  it  that  none 
of  us  asked  her  what  her  relations  with  him  were? 


62  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

And  she  used  to  come  to  us  regularly,  every  morning, 
for  her  little  biscuits,  and  was  the  same  as  ever. 

And  this  day  also  we  very  soon  heard  her 
voice. 

"  Little  prisoners,  I  have  come.     .     ." 

We  crowded  forward  to  meet  her,  and  when  she 
came  in,  contrary  to  our  usual  custom,  we  met  her 
in  silence.  Looking  at  her  with  all  our  eyes,  we  knew 
not  what  to  say  to  her,  what  to  ask  her.  We  stood 
before  her  a  gloomy,  silent  crowd.  She  was  visibly 
surprised  at  this  unusual  reception — and  all  at  once  we 
saw  her  grow  pale,  uneasy,  fidget  in  her  place, 
and  inquire  in  a  subdued  voice : 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you?  " 

"  And  how  about  yourself  ? "  the  master-baker 
sullenly  said,  never  taking  his  eyes  off  her. 

"Myself?    What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Oh,   nothing,  nothing." 

"  Come,  give  me  the  biscuits ! — quick !  " 

Never  before  had  she  been  so  sharp  with  us. 

"  You're  in  a  hurry,"  said  the  baker,  not  moving  and 
never  taking  his  eyes  from  her  face. 

Then  she  suddenly  turned  round  and  disappeared 
through  the  door. 

The  baker  caught  up  his  shovel  and,  turning  towards 
the  stove,  remarked  quietly: 

"It  means — she's  all  ready  for  him.  Ah,  that 
soldier  .  .  .  the  scoundrel  ...  the  skunk ! " 

We  like  a  flock  of  sheep,  rubbing  shoulders  with 


TWENTY-SIX  OF  US  AND  ONE  OTHER.  63 

each  other,  went  to  our  table,  sat  down  in  silence,  and 
wearily  began  to  work.  Presently,  someone  said : 
"  Yet  is  it  possible  .  .  .  ?  " 

"  Well,  well,  what's  the  good  of  talking  ?  "  screeched 
the  baker. 

We  all  knew  that  he  was  a  wise  man,  far  wiser  than 
we.  And  we  understood  his  exclamation  as  a  con- 
viction of  the)  victory  of  the  soldier.  .  .  We  felt 
miserable  and  uneasy. 

At  twelve  o'clock — dinner-time — the  soldier  arrived. 
He  was  as  usual  spruce  and  genteel  and — as  he  always 
did — looked  us  straight  in  the  eyes.  But  we  found 
it  awkward  to  look  at  him. 

11  Well,  my  worthy  gentlemen,  if  you  like,  I'll  show 
you  a  bit  of  martial  prowess,"  said  he,  laughing  proudly. 
"  Just  you  come  out  into  the  outhouse  and  look  through 
the  crevices — do  you  understand  ?  " 

Out  we  went,  elbowing  each  other  on  the  way,  and 
glued  our  faces  to  the  crevices  in  the  boarded-up  wall 
of  the  outhouse  looking  upon  the  courtyard.  We  had 
not  long  to  wait.  Very  soon,  at  a  rapid  pace,  and  with  a 
face  full  of  anxiety,  Tanya  came  tearing  through  the 
yard,  springing  over  the  puddles  of  stale  snow  and  mud. 
Shortly  afterwards,  in  not  the  least  hurry  and  whistling 
as  he  went,  appeared  the  soldier,  making  his  way  in 
the  same  direction  as  Tanya,  evidently  they  had 
arranged  a  rendezvous.  His  arms  were  thrust  deep 
down  in  his  pockets,  and  his  moustaches  were  moving 
up  and  down  .  ,  .  He  also  disappeared  .  .  . 


64  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

Then  the  rain  came,  and  we  watched  the  raindrops  fall- 
ing into  the  puddles,  and  the  puddles  wrinkle  beneath 
their  impact  The  day  was  damp  and  grey — a  very 
wearying  day.  Snow  still  lay  upon  the  roofs,  and  on 
the  earth  dark  patches  of  mud  were  already  appear- 
ing. And  the  snow  on  the  roofs  also  got  covered 
with  dirty  dark-brown  smuts.  The  rain  descended 
slowly  with  a  melancholy  sound.  We  found  it  cold 
and  unpleasant  to  stand  waiting  there,  but  we  were 
furious  with  Tanya  for  having  deserted  us,  her 
worshippers,  for  the  sake  of  a  common  soldier,  and 
we  waited  for  her  with  the  grim  delight  of  exe- 
cutioners. 

After  a  while — we  saw  Tanya  returning.  Her  eyes — 
yes,  her  eyes,  actually  sparkled  with  joy  and  happiness, 
and  her  lips — were  smiling.  And  she  was  walking 
as  if  in  a  dream,  rocking  a  little  to  and  fro,  with  un- 
certain footsteps  .  .  . 

We  could  not  endure  this  calmly.  The  whole  lot 
of  us  suddenly  burst  through  the  door,  rushed  into 
the  yard,  and  hissed  and  yelled  at  her  with  evil,  bestial 
violence. 

On  perceiving  us  she  trembled — and  stood  as  if 
rooted  in  the  mud  beneath  her  feet.  We  surrounded 
her  and,  maliciously,  without  any  circumlocution,  we 
reviled  her  to  our  hearts'  content,  and  called  her  the 
most  shameful  things. 

We  did  not  raise  our  voices,  we  took  our  time  about 
it.  We  saw  that  she  had  nowhere  to  go,  that  she  was 


TWENTY-SIX  OF  US  AND  ONE  OTHER.      65 

in  the  midst  of  us,  and  we  might  vent  our  rage  upon 
her  as  much  as  we  liked.  I  don't  know  why,  but  we 
did  not  beat  her.  She  stood  in  the  midst  of  us,  and 
kept  turning  her  head  now  hither,  now  thither,  as 
she  listened  to  our  insults.  And  we — bespattered  her, 
more  and  more  violently,  with  the  mud  and  the  venom 
of  our  words. 

The  colour  quitted  her  face,  her  blue  eyes,  a  minute 
before  so  radiant  with  happiness,  opened  widely,  her 
bosom  heaved  heavily,  and  her  lips  trembled. 

And  we,  surrounding  her,  revenged  ourselves  upon 
her,  for  she  had  robbed  us.  She  had  belonged  to  us, 
we  had  expended  our  best  upon  her,  and  although 
that  best  was  but  a  beggar's  crumb,  yet  we  were  six- 
and-twenty  and  she  was  but  one,  therefore  we  could 
not  devise  torments  worthy  of  her  fault.  How  we  did 
abuse  her!  She  was  silent  all  along — all  along  she 
looked  at  us  with  the  wild  eyes  of  a  hunted  beast, 
she  was  all  of  a  tremble. 

We  ridiculed,  we  reviled,  we  baited  her  .  .  . 
Other  people  came  running  up  to  us  .  .  .  One  of 
us  plucked  Tanya  by  the  sleeve. 

Suddenly  her  eyes  sparkled,  she  leisurely  raised  her 
hands  to  her  head  and,  tidying  her  hair,  looked  straight 
into  our  faces,  and  cried  loudly  but  calmly : 

"  Ugh !  you  wretched  prisoners !  " 

And  she  walked  straight  up  to  us,  walked  as  simply 
as  if  we  were  not  standing  there  before  her  at  all, 
as  if  we  were  not  obstructing  her  way.  And  for  that 

E     * 


66  TALES   FROM    GORKY. 

very  reason  not  one  of  us  was  actually  standing  in 
her  way  when  she  came  up  to  us. 

And  proceeding  out  of  our  midst  and,  without  so 
much  as  turning  towards  us,  loudly,  and  with  in- 
describable contempt,  she  kept  on  saying : 

"  Ugh !  you  wretches !  you  vermin !  " 

And — off  she  went. 

We  remained  standing  in  the  yard,  in  the  midst  of 
the  mud,  beneath  the  pouring  rain  and  the  grey,  sun- 
less sky. 

Presently  we  returned  in  silence  to  our  grey,  stony 
dungeon.  As  before,  the  sun  never  once  looked 
through  our  window,  and — there  was  no  Tanya  now. 


III.— ONE    AUTUMN    NIGHT. 

ONCE  in  the  autumn  I  happened  to  be  in  a  very 
unpleasant  and  inconvenient  position.  In  the  town 
where  I  had  just  arrived  and  where  I  knew  not  a 
soul,  I  found  myself  without  a  farthing  in  my  pocket 
and  without  a  night's  lodging. 

Having  sold  during  the  first  few  days  every  part 
of  my  costume,  without  which  it  was  still  possible  to  go 
about,  I  passed  from  the  town  into  the  quarter  called 
"  Ysle,"*  where  were  the  steamship  wharves — a  quarter 
which  during  the  navigation  season  fermented  with 
boisterous  laborious  life,  but  now  was  silent  and 
deserted,  and  indeed  we  were  in  the  last  days  of 
October. 

Dragging  my  feet  along  the  moist  sand,  and 
obstinately  scrutinising  it  with  the  desire  to  discover 
in  it  any  sort  of  fragment  of  food,  I  wandered  alone 
among  the  deserted  buildings  and  warehouses,  and 
thought  how  good  it  would  be  to  get  a  fair  bellyful. 

In  our  present  state  of  culture  hunger  of  the  mind 
is  more  quickly  satisfied  than  hunger  of  the  body. 
You  wander  about  the  streets,  you  are  surrounded 
by  buildings  not  bad-looking  from  the  outside  and — 

*  River's  mouth. 


68  TALES   FROM    GORKY. 

you  may  safely  say  it — not  so  badly  furnished  inside, 
and  the  sight  of  them  may  excite  within  you 
stimulating  ideas  about  architecture,  hygiene,  and 
many  other  wise  and  high-flying  subjects.  You 
may  meet  warmly  and  neatly  dressed  folks — all 
very  polite,  and  turning  away  from  you  tactfully, 
not  wishing  offensively  to  notice  the  lamentable 
fact  of  your  existence.  Well,  well,  the  mind  of  a 
hungry  man  is  always  better  nourished  and  healthier 
than  the  mind  of  the  well-fed  man — and  there  you 
have  a  situation  from  which  you  may  draw  a  very 
ingenious  conclusion  in  favour  of  the  ill  fed  ! 

The  evening  was  approaching,  the  rain  was  falling, 
and  the  wind  blew  violently  from  the  north.  It 
whistled  in  the  empty  booths  and  shops,  blew  into  the 
plastered  window-panes  of  the  taverns,  and  whipped 
into  a  foam  the  wavelets  of  the  river  which  splashed 
noisily  on  the  sandy  shore,  casting  high  their  white 
crests,  racing  one  after  another  into  the  dim 
distance,  and  leaping  impetuously  over  one  another's 
shoulders  ...  It  seemed  as  if  the  river  felt  the 
proximity  of  winter,  and  was  running  at  random  away 
from  the  fetters  of  ice  which  the  north  wind  might 
well  have  flung  upon  her  that  very  night.  The  sky 
was  heavy  and  dark,  down  from  it  swept  incessantly 
scarcely  visible  drops  of  rain,  and  the  melancholy  elegy 
in  nature  all  around  me  was  emphasised  by  a  couple 
of  battered  and  misshapen  willow-trees,  and  a  boat, 
bottom  upwards,  that  was  fastened  to  their  roots. 


ONE   AUTUMN    NIGHT.  69 

The  overturned  canoe  with  its  battered  keel,  and  the 
old  and  miserable  trees  rifled  by  the  cold  wind  .  .  . 
everything  around  me  bankrupt,  barren^  and  dead, 
and  the  sky  flowing  with  undryable  tears  .  .  . 
everything  around  waste  and  gloomy  ...  it 
seemed  as  if  everything  were  dead,  leaving  me  alone 
among  the  living,  and  me  also  a  cold  death  awaited. 

And  I  was  then  eighteen  years  old — a  good  time! 

I  walked  and  walked  along  the  cold  wet  sand, 
making  my  chattering  teeth  warble  in  honour  of  cold 
and  hunger,  and  suddenly,  as  I  was  carefully  searching 
for  something  to  eat  behind  one  of  the  empty  crates, 
I  perceived  behind  it,  crouching  on  the  ground,  a 
figure  in  woman's  clothes  dank  with  the  rain  and 
clinging  fast  to  her  stooping  shoulders.  Standing  over 
her,  I  watched  to  see  what  she  was  doing.  It  appeared 
that  she  was  digging  a  trench  in  the  sand  with  her 
hands,  digging  away  under  one  of  the  crates. 

"Why  are  you  doing  that?"  I  asked,  crouching 
down  on  my  heels  quite  close  to  her. 

She  gave  a  little  scream  and  was  quickly  on  her 
legs  again.  Now  that  she  stood  there  staring  at  me, 
with  her  wide-open  grey  eyes  full  of  terror,  I  perceived 
that  it  was  a  girl  of  my  own  age,  with  a  very  pleasant 
face  embellished  unfortunately  by  three  large  blue 
marks.  This  spoilt  her,  although  these  blue  marks  had 
been  distributed  with  a  remarkable  sense  of  proportion, 
one  at  a  time,  and  all  of  equal  size :  two  under  the  eyes, 
and  one  a  little  bigger  on  the  forehead  just  over  the 


70  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

bridge  of  the  nose.  This  symmetry  was  evidently 
the  work  of  an  artist  well  inured  to  the  business  of 
spoiling  the  human  physiognomy. 

The  girl  looked  at  me,  and  the  terror  in  her  eyes 
gradually  died  out  .  .  .  She  shook  the  sand  from 
her  hands,  adjusted  her  cotton  head-gear,  cowered 
down,  and  said : 

"  I  suppose  you  too  want  something  to  eat  ?  Dig 
away  then ! — my  hands  are  tired.  Over  there  " — she 
nodded  her  head  in  the  direction  of  a  booth — "  there 
is  bread  for  certain  .  .  .  and  sausages  too  .  .  . 
That  booth  is  still  carrying  on  business." 

I  began  to  dig.  She,  after  waiting  a  little  and 
looking  at  me,  sat  down  beside  me  and  began  to  help 
me. 

We  worked  in  silence.  I  cannot  say  now  whether 
I  thought  at  that  moment  of  the  criminal  code,  of 
morality,  of  proprietorship,  and  all  the  other  things 
about  which,  in  the  opinion  of  many  experienced 
persons,  one  ought  to  think  every  moment  of  one's 
life.  Wishing  to  keep  as  close  to  the  truth  as  possible, 
I  must  confess  that  apparently  I  was  so  deeply  en- 
gaged in  digging  under  the  crate  that  I  completely 
forgot  about  everything  else  except  this  one  thing: 
what  could  be  inside  that  crate. 

The  evening  drew  on.  The  grey,  mouldy,  cold  fog 
grew  thicker  and  thicker  around  us.  The  waves 
roared  with  a  hollower  sound  than  before,  and  the 
rain  pattered  down  on  the  boards  of  the  crate 


ONE   AUTUMN    NIGHT.  71 

more  loudly  and  more  frequently.  Somewhere  or 
other  the  night-watchman  began  springing  his 
rattle. 

"  Has  it  got  a  bottom  or  not  ?  "  softly  inquired  my 
assistant.  I  did  not  understand  what  she  was  talking 
about,  and  I  kept  silence. 

"  I  say,  has  the  crate  got  a  bottom,  for  if  it  has  we 
shall  vainly  try  to  break  into  it.  Here  we  are  digging 
a  trench,  and  we  may,  after  all,  come  upon  nothing 
but  solid  boards.  How  shall  we  take  them  off? 
Better  smash  the  lock — it  is  a  wretched  lock." 

Good  ideas  rarely  visit  the  heads  of  women,  but, 
as  you  see,  they  do  visit  them  sometimes.  I  have 
always  valued  good  ideas,  and  have  always  tried  to 
utilise  them  as  far  as  possible. 

Having  found  the  lock,  I  tugged  at  it  and  wrenched 
off  the  whole  thing.  My  accomplice  immediately 
stooped  down  and  wriggled  like  a  serpent  into  the 
gaping-open,  four-cornered  cover  of  the  crate  whence 
she  called  to  me  approvingly,  sotto  voct: 

"You're  a  brick!" 

Nowadays  a  little  crumb  of  praise  from  a  woman 
is  dearer  to  me  than  a  whole  dithyramb  from  a  man, 
even  though  he  be  more  eloquent  than  all  the  ancient 
and  modern  orators  put  together.  Then,  however,  I 
was  less  amiably  disposed  than  I  am  now,  and,  paying 
no  attention  to  the  compliment  of  my  comrade,  I  asked 
her  curtly  and  anxiously : 

"Is  there  anything?  " 


72  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

In  a  monotonous  tone  she  set  about  calculating  our 
discoveries. 

"A  basketful  of  bottles — thick  furs — a  sunshade 
— an  iron  pail" 

All  this  was  uneatable.  I  felt  that  my  hopes  had 
vanished  .  .  .  But  suddenly  she  exclaimed 
vivaciously : 

"Aha!  here  it  is!" 

"What?" 

"  Bread  ...  a  loaf  .  .  .  it's  only  wet 
.  .  .  take  it!" 

A  loaf  flew  to  my  feet,  and  after  it  herself,  my 
valiant  comrade.  I  had  already  bitten  off  a  morsel, 
stuffed  it  in  my  mouth,  and  was  chewing  it  ... 

"  Come,  give  me  some  too !  .  .  -  .  And  we  mustn't 
stay  here  .  .  .  Where  shall  we  go  ?  "  she  looked 
inquiringly  about  on  all  sides  ...  It  was  dark, 
wet,  and  boisterous. 

"  Look !  there's  an  upset  canoe  yonder  ...  let 
us  go  there." 

"  Let  us  go  then !  "  And  off  we  set,  demolishing 
our  booty  as  we  went,  and  filling  our  mouths  with  large 
portions  of  it  .  .  .  The  rain  grew  more  violent, 
the  river  roared ;  from  somewhere  or  other  resounded 
a  prolonged  mocking  whistle — just  as  if  Someone  great 
who  feared  nobody  was  whistling  down  all  earthly 
institutions  and  along  with  them  this  horrid  autumnal 
wind  and  us  its  heroes.  This  whistling  made  my 
heart  throb  painfully,  in  spite  of  which  I  greedily 


ONE    AUTUMN    NIGHT.  73 

went  on  eating,  in  which  respect  the  girl,  walking  on 
my  left  hand,  kept  even  pace  with  me. 

"  What  do  they  call  you?  "  I  asked  her,  why  I  know 
not 

"  Natasha,"  she  answered  shortly,  munching  loudly. 

I   stared  at  her — my  heart  ached  within  me,  and 
then  I  stared  into  the  mist  before  me,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  as  if  the  inimical  countenance  of  my  Destiny 
was  smiling  at  me  enigmatically  and  coldly. 
***** 

The  rain  scourged  the  timbers  of  the  skiff  in- 
cessantly, and  its  soft  patter  induced  melancholy 
thoughts,  and  the  wind  whistled  as  it  flew  down  into 
the  boat's  battered  bottom — through  a  rift,  where 
some  loose  splinters  of  wood  were  rattling  together — 
a  disquieting  and  depressing  sound.  The  waves  of  the 
river  were  splashing  on  the  shore,  and  sounded  so 
monotonous  and  hopeless,  just  as  if  they  were  telling 
something  unbearably  dull  and  heavy, which  was  boring 
them  into  utter  disgust,  something  from  which  they 
wanted  to  run  away  and  yet  were  obliged  to  talk  about 
all  the  same.  The  sound  of  the  rain  blended  with 
their  splashing,  and  a  long-drawn  sigh  seemed  to  be 
floating  above  the  overturned  skiff — the  endless,  labour- 
ing sigh  of  the  earth,  injured  and  exhausted  by  the 
eternal  changes  from  the  bright  and  warm  summer  to 
the  cold  misty  and  damp  autumn.  And  the  wind  blew 
continually  over  the  desolate  shore  and  the  foaming 
river — blew  and  sang  its  melancholy  songs.  .  . 


74  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

Our  position  beneath  the  shelter  of  the  skiff  was 
utterly  devoid  of  comfort ;  it  was  narrow  and  damp, 
tiny  cold  drops  of  rain  dribbled  through  the  damaged 
bottom  .  .  .  gusts  of  wind  penetrated  it.  We  sat 
in  silence  and  shivered  with  cold.  I  remember  that  I 
wanted  to  go  to  sleep.  Natasha  leaned  her  back 
against  the  hull  of  the  boat  and  curled  helrself  up  into 
a  tiny  ball.  Embracing  her  knees  with  her  hands, 
and  resting  her  chin  upon  them,  she  stared  doggedly 
at  the  river  with  wide-open  eyes  ;  on  the  pale  patch 
of  her  face  they  seemed  immense,  because  of  the  blue 
marks  below  them.  She  never  moved,  and  this 
immobility  and  silence — I  felt  it — gradually  produced 
within  me  a  terror  of  my  neighbour.  I  wanted  to  talk 
to  her,  but  I  knew  not  how  to  begin. 

It  was  she  herself  who  spoke, 

"  What  a  cursed  thing  life  is !  "  she  exclaimed 
plainly,  abstractedly,  and  in  a  tone  of  deep  conviction. 

But  this  was  no  complaint.  In  these  words  there 
was  too  much  of  indifference  for  a  complaint.  This 
simple  soul  thought  according  to  her  understanding, 
thought  and  proceeded  to  form  a  certain  conclusion 
which  she  expressed  aloud,  and  which  I  could  not 
confute  for  fear  of  contradicting  myself.  Therefore 
I  was  silent.  And  she,  as  if  she  had  not  noticed  me, 
continued  to  sit  there  immovable. 

"  Even  if   we  croaked    .     .     .     what  then     .     ." 

^Natasha  began  again,  this  time  quietly  and  reflectively. 

And  still  there  was  not  one  note  of  complaint  in  her 


ONE    AUTUMN    NIGHT.  75 

words.  It  was  plain  that  this  person,  in  the  course  of 
her  reflections  on  life,  was  regarding  her  own  case, 
and  had  arrived  at  the  conviction  that  in  order  to 
preserve  herself  from  the  mockeries  of  life,  she  was 
not  in  a  position  to  do  anything  else  but  simply 
"croak,"  to  use  her  own  expression. 

The  clearness  of  this  line  of  thought  was  inex- 
pressibly sad  and  painful  to  me,  and  I  felt  that  if  I 
kept  silence  any  longer  I  was  really  bound  to  weep. 
.  .  .  And  it  would  have  been  shameful  to  have 
done  this  before  a  woman,  especially  as  she  was  not 
weeping  herself.  I  resolved  to  speak  to  her. 

"Who  was  it  that  knocked  you  about?"  I  asked. 
For  the  moment  I  could  not  think  of  anything  more 
sensible  or  more  delicate. 

"  Pashka  did  it  all,"  she  answered  in  a  dull  and  level 
tone. 
.     "And  who  is  he?" 

"  My  lover.     .     .     He  was  a  baker." 

"Did  he   beat  you  often?" 

"Whenever  he  was  drunk  he  beat  me.  .  . 
Often!" 

And  suddenly,  turning  towards  me,  she  began  to 
talk  about  herself,  Pashka,  and  their  mutual  relations. 
She  was  "  one  of  the  street-walking  girls  who  .  .  ." 
— and  he  was  a  baker  with  red  moustaches  and  played 
very  well  on  the  banjo.  He  came  to  see  her  at  "  the 
establishment,"  and  greatly  pleased  her,  for  he  was  a 
merry  chap  and  wore  nice  clean  clothes.  He  had  an 


76  TALES   FROM    GORKY. 

under-vest  which  cost  fifteen  roubles  and  boots  with 
dress  tops.  For  these  reason  she  had  fallen  in  love 
with  him,  and  he  became  her  "  creditor."  And  when  he 
became  her  creditor  hie  made  it  his  business  to  take 
away  from  her  the  money  which  thei  other  guests  gave 
to  her  for  bonbons,  and  getting  drunk  on  this  money 
would  fall  to  beating  her ;  but  that  would  have  been 
nothing  if  he  hadn't  also  begun  to  "  run  after  "  other 
girls  before  her  very  eyes. 

"  Now,  wasn't  that  an  insult  ?  I  am  not  worse  than 
the  others.  Of  course  that  meant  that  he  was  laugh- 
ing at  me,  the  blackguard.  The  day  before  yesterday 
I  asked  leave  of  my  mistress  to  go  out  for  a  bit,  went 
to  him,  and  there  I  found  Dimka  sitting  beside  him 
drunk.  And  he,  too,  was  half  seas  over.  I  said  to 
him :  '  You  scoundrel,  you ! '  And  he  gave  me  a 
thorough  hiding.  And  he  kicked  me  and  dragged 
me  by  the  hair — and  did  everything.  But  that 
was  nothing  to  what  came  after.  But  he  spoiled 
everything  I  had  on — left  me  just  as  I  am  now  !  How 
could  I  appear  before  my  mistress  ?  He  spoiled  every- 
thing .  .  .  my  dress  and  my  jacket  too— it  was 
quite  a  new  one — I  gave  a  fiver  for  it  ...  land 
tore  my  kerchief  from  my  head.  .  .  Oh,  Lord! 
What  will  become  of  me  now !  "  she  suddenly  whined 
in  a  lamentable  overstrained  voice. 

And  the  wind  howled,  and  became  ever  colder  and 
more  boisterous.  .  .  Again  my  teeth  began  to  dance 
up  and  down.  And  she,  too,  huddled  up  to  avoid 


ONE    AUTUMN    NIGHT.  77 

the  cold,  pressing  as  closely  to  me  as  she  could,  so  that 
I  could  see  the  gleam  of  her  eyes  through  the  dark- 
ness. 

"What  wretches  all  you  men  are!  I'd  burn  you 
all  in  an  oven,  I'd  cut  you  in  pieces.  If  anyone  of 
you  was  dying  I'd  spit  in  his  mouth,  and  not  pity  him 
a  bit.  Mean  skunks.  You  wheedle  and  wheedle,  you 
wag  your  tails  like  cringing  dogs,  and  we  fools  give 
ourselves  up  to  you,  and  it's  all  up  with  us !  Immedi- 
ately you  trample  us  underfoot.  .  .  Miserable 
loafers!" 

She)  cursed  us  up  and  down,  but  there  was  no 
vigour,  no  malice,  no  hatred  of  these  "  miserable 
loafers  "  in  her  cursing  that  I  could  hear.  The  tone 
of  her  language  by  no  means  corresponded  with  its 
subject-matter,  for  it  was  calm  enough,  and  the  gamut 
of  her  voice  was  terribly  poor. 

Yet  all  this  made  a  stronger  impression  on  me  than 
the  most  eloquent  and  convincing  pessimistic  books 
and  speeches,  'of  which  I  had  and  have  read  not  a  few, 
both  earlier  and  later,  and  still  read  to  this  day.  And 
this,  you  see,  was  because  the  agony  'of  a  dying 
person  is  much  more  natural  and  violent  than  the 
most  minute  and  picturesque  descriptions  of  death. 

I  felt  really  wretched,  more  from  cold  than  from  the 
words  of  my  neighbour.  I  groaned  softly  and  gnashed 
my  teeth. 

And  almost  at  the  same  moment  I  felt  two  little  arms 
about  me — one  of  them  touched  my  neck  and  the  other 


78  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

lay  upon  my  face,  and  at  the  same  time  an  anxious, 
gentle,  friendly  voice  uttered  the  question : 

"What  ails  thee?" 

I  was  ready  to  believe  that  someone  was  asking 
me  this  and  not  Natasha,  who  had  just  declared  that 
all  men  were  scoundrels,  and  expressing  a  wish  for  their 
destruction.  But  she  it  was,  and  now  she  began 
speaking  quickly,  hurriedly. 

"  What  ails  thee,  eh?  Art  cold?  Art  frozen?  Ah, 
what  a  one  thou  art,  sitting  there  so  silent  like  a  little 
owl !  Why,  thou  shouldst  have  told  me  long  ago  that 
thou  wert  cold.  Come  ...  lie  on  the  ground 
.  .  .  stretch  thyself  out  and  I  will  lie  ... 
there !  how's  that  ?  Now  put  your  arms  round  me ! 
.  .  .  tighter !  How's  that !  thou  shouldst  be  warm 
very  soon  now.  .  .  And  then  we'll  lie  back  to  back 
.  .  .  The  night  will  pass  so  quickly,  see  if  it  won't 
I  say  .  .  .  hast  thou  too  been  drinking?  .  .  . 
turned  out  of  thy  place,  eh?  ...  It  doesn't 
matter." 

And  she  comforted  me;    .    .     She  encouraged  me. 

May  I  be  thrice  accursed !  What  a  world  of  irony 
was  in  this  single  fact  for  me !  Just  imagine !  Here 
was  I,  seriously  occupied  at  this  very  time  with  the 
destiny  of  humanity,  thinking  of  the  re-organization 
of  the  social  system,  of  political  revolutions,  reading 
all  sorts  of  devilishly-wise  books  whose  abysmal  pro- 
fundity was  certainly  unfathomable  by  their  very 
authors — at  this  very  time,  I  say,  I  was  trying  with  all 


ONE    AUTUMN    NIGHT.  79 

my  might  to  make  of  myself  "  a  potent  active 
social  force."  It  even  seemed  to  me  that  I  had 
partially  accomplished  my  object;  anyhow,  at 
this  time,  in  my  ideas  about  myself  I  had  got 
so  far  as  to  recognise  that  I  had  an  exclusive 
right  to  exist,  that  I  had  the  necessary  greatness  to 
deserve  to  live  my  life,  and  that  I  was  fully  competent 
to  play  a  great  historical  part  therein.  And  a  venal 
woman  was  now  warming  me  with  her  body,  a 
wretched,  battered,  hunted  creature,  who  had  no  place 
and  no  value  in  life,  and  whom  I  had  never  thought 
of  helping  till  she  helped  me  herself,  and  whom  I  really 
would  not  have  known  how  to  help  in  any  way  even 
if  the  thought  of  it  had  occurred  to  me. 

Ah !  I  was  reiady  to  think  that  all  this  was  happen- 
ing to  me  in  a  dream — in  a  disagreeable,  an  oppressive 
dream. 

But,  ugh !  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  think  that,  for 
cold  drops  of  rain  were  dripping  down  upon  me,  the 
woman  was  pressing  close  to  me,  her  warm  breath 
was  fanning  my  face,  and  despite  a  slight  bouquet 
of  vodka  it  did  me  good.  The  wind  howled  and 
raged,  the  rain  smote  upon  the  skiff,  the  waves 
splashed,  and  both  of  us,  embracing  each  other  con- 
vulsively, nevertheless  shivered  with  cold.  All  this 
was  only  too  real,  and  I  am  certain  that  nobody  ever 
dreamed  such  an  oppressive  and  horrid  dream  as  that 
reality. 

But  Natasha  was  talking  all  the  time  of  something 


So  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

or  other,  talking  so  kindly  and  sympathetically,  as  only 
women  can  talk.  Beneath  the  influence  of  her  voice 
and  kindly  words  a  little  fire  began  to  bum  up  within 
me,  and  something  inside  my  heart  thawed  in  con- 
sequence. 

Then  tears  poured  from  my  eyes  like  a  hailstorm, 
washing  away  from  my  heart  much  that  was  evil,  much 
that  was  stupid,  much  sorrow  and  dirt  which  had 
fastened  upon  it  before  that  night.  Natasha,  too,  en- 
couraged me : 

"  Come,  come,  that  will  do,  little  one !  Don't  take  on ! 
That'll  do!  God  will  give  thee  another  chance 
.  .  .  thou  wilt  right  thyself  and  stand  in  thy  proper 
place  again  .  .  .  and  it  will  be  all  right.  .  ." 

And  she  kept  kissing  me  .  .  .  many  kisses  did 
she  give  me  .  .  .  burning  kisses  .  .  .  and  all 
for  nothing  .  .  . 

Those  were  the  first  kisses  from  a  woman  that  had 
ever  been  bestowed  upon  me,  and  they  were  the  best 
kisses  too,  for  all  the  subsequent  kisses  cost  me  fright- 
fully dear,  and  really  gave  me  nothing  at  all  in 
exchange. 

"  Come,  don't  take  on  so,  funny  one !  I'll  manage 
for  thee  to-morrow  if  thou  canst  not  find  a  place" — and 
her  quiet  persuasive  whispering  sounded  in  my  ears 
as  if  it  came  through  a  dream.  .  . 

There  we  lay  till  dawn.     .     . 

And  when  the  dawn  came,  we  crept  from  behind 
the  skiff  and  went  into  the  town.  .  .  .  Then  we 


ONE    AUTUMN    NIGHT.  81 

took  friendly  leave  of  each  other  and  never  met  again, 
although  for  half  a  year  I  searched  for  that  kind 
Natasha,  with  whom  I  spent  the  autumn  night  just 
described  by  me,  in  every  hole  and  corner  .  .  . 

If  she  be  already  dead — and  well  for  her  if  it  were 
so! — may  she  rest  in  peace!  And  if  she  be  alive 
.  .  .  still  I  say :  peace  to  her  soul !  And  may  the 
consciousness  of  her  fall  never  enter  her  soul  .  .  . 
for  that  would  be  a  superfluous  and  fruitless  suffering 
if  life  is  to  be  lived 


IV.— A  ROLLING  STONE. 
I. 

I  MEET  HIM. 

STUMBLING  in  the  dark  upon  the  hurdle  fence  I 
valiantly  strided  over  puddles  of  mud  from  window 
to  window,  tapped,  not  very  loudly,  on  the  window- 
panes  with  my  fingers,  and  cried  : 

"  Give  a  traveller  a  night's  lodging !  " 

In  reply  they  sent  me  to  the  neighbours  or  to  the 
Devil ;  from  one  window  they  promised  to  let  the  dog 
loose  upon  me,  from  another  they  threatened  me 
silently  but  eloquently  with  their  fists — and  big  fists 
too.  A  woman  screamed  at  me. 

"  Go  away,  be  off  while  you  are  still  whole  t  My 
husband  is  at  home." 

I  understood  her:  she  only  took  in  lodgers  during 
the  absence  of  her  husband  .  .  .  Regretting  that 
he  was  at  home  I  went  on  to  the  next  window. 

"  Good  people,  give  a  traveller  a  night's  lodging !  " 

They  answered  me  politely : 

"  In  God's  name  go — further  on !  " 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  83 

The  weather  was  wretched — a  fine,  cold  rain  was 
falling,  and  the  muddy  earth  was  thickly  enveloped 
in  darkness.  From  time  to  time  a  gust  of  wind  blew 
from  some  quarter  or  other ;  it  moaned  softly  in  the 
branches  of  the  trees,  rustled  the  wet  straw  on  the 
roofs,  and  gave  birth  to  many  other  cheerless  noises, 
breaking  in  upon  the  gloomy  silence  of  the  night  with 
its  miserable  music  of  sighs  and  groans.  Listening 
to  this  dolorous  prelude  to  the  grim  poem  which  they 
call  Autumn,  the  people  under  the  roofs  were  no  doubt 
in  a  bad  humour,  and  therefore  would  not  give  me  a 
night's  lodging.  For  a  long  time  I  had  fought  against 
this  resolution  of  theirs,  they  as  doggedly  opposed  me 
and,  at  last,  had  annihilated  my  hopes  of  a  night's 
lodging  beneath  any  roof  whatsoever.  So  I  left  the 
village  and  went  forth  into  the  fields,  thinking  that 
there,  perhaps,  I  might  find  a  haycock  or  a  rick  of 
straw  .  .  .  though  naught  but  chance  could 
direct  me  to  them  in  this  thick  and  heavy  darkness. 

But  lo  and  behold!  I  saw,  three  paces  in  front 
of  me,  something  big  rising  up — something  even  darker 
than  the  darkness.  I  went  thither,  and  discovered  that 
it  was  a  corn  magazine.  Corn  magazines,  you  know, 
are  built  not  right  upon  the  earth  but  upon  piles  'or 
stones ;  between  the  floor  of  the  magazine  and  the 
ground  is  a  space  where  an  ordinary  man  can  easily 
settle  down  ...  all  he  has  to  do  is  to  lie  upon 
his  belly  and  wriggle  into  it 

Clearly,   Destiny  desired  that  I  should  pass  that 


84  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

night  not  only  under  a  roof  but  under  a  floor.  Content 
therewith,  I  wriggled  along  the  dry  ground,  feeling 
with  my  breast  and  sides  for  a  somewhat  more 
level  place  for  my  night's  lodging.  And  suddenly  in 
the  darkness  resounded  a  calmly-anticipatory  voice : 

"  A  little  more  to  the  left,  if  you  please !  " 

This  was  not  alarming,  but  unexpected  it  certainly 
was. 

"Who's  there?"  I  inquired 

"  A  man    .         .     with  a  stick     .     .     ." 

"  I  have  a  stick  too."  , 

"And  matches?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  matches  also." 

"  That's  good." 

I  didn't  see  anything  at  all  good  in  this,  for,  accord- 
ing to  my  view  of  the  matter,  it  would  only  have 
been  good  if  I  had  had  bread  and  tobacco  and  not 
merely  matches. 

"  I  suppose  they  wouldn't  let  you  have  a  night's 
lodging  in  the  village  ?  "  inquired  the  invisible  voice. 

"  No,  they  wouldn't,"  I  said. 

"  Me  also  they  would  not  admit" 

This  was  clear — if  only  he  had  asked  for  a  night's 
lodging.  But  he  might  not  have  asked,  he  might 
simply  have  crept  in  here  to  await  a  favourable  oppor- 
tunity for  executing  some  sort  of  risky  operation 
absolutely  desiderating  the  protection  of  the  night 
Every  sort  of  labour  is  praiseworthy,  I  know,  but  for 
all  that  I  resolved  to  clutch  my  stick  firmly. 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  85 

"  They  wouldn't  let  me  in,  the  Devils !  "  resumed 
the  voice.  "  Blockheads !  In  fine  weather  they  let 
you  in,  while  in  weather  like  this  .  .  .  may  they 
howl  for  it !  " 

"And  whither  are  you  going?"  I  asked. 

"To    .     .     .     Nikolaiev.     And  you?" 

I  told  him. 

"  Fellow-travellers  that  means.  And  now  strike  a 
match.  I'm  going  to  smoke." 

The  matches  had  got  damp — impatiently,  it  took  me 
a  long  time,  I  struck  them  against  the  boards  above  my 
head.  At  last  a  tiny  little  light  spluttered  forth,  and 
from  out  of  the  darkness  stared  a  pale  face  with  a  thick 
black  beard. 

The  big,  sensible  eyes  looked  at  me  with  a  smile, 
presently  some  white  teeth  gleamed  from  beneath 
the  moustaches,  and  the  man  said  to  me :  "  Like  a 
smoke  ?  " 

The  match  burnt  out.  We  lit  another,  and  by  the 
light  of  it  we  stared  once  more  at  each  other,  after 
which  my  fellow  lodger  observed  confidentially : 

"  Well,  it  seems  to  me  we  shan't  clash  .  .  .  take 
a  cigarette." 

Another  cigarette  was  between  his  teeth  and, 
brightening  as  he  smoked  it,  illuminated  his  face 
with  a  faint  reddish  glimmer.  Around  his  eyes  and 
on  the  forehead  of  this  man  was  a  lot  of  deep  and 
finely  furrowed  wrinkles.  Earlier,  by  the  light  of  the 
same  match,  I  had  observed  that  he  was  dressed  in  the 


86  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

remains  of  an  old  wadding  paletot,  girded  with  a  piece 
of  string,  and  on  his  feet  were  shoes  made  of  a  whole 
piece  of  leather — porshni  as  we  call  them  on  the  Don. 

"A  pilgrim?"  I  asked 

"  Yes,  I  go  on  foot    And  you  ?  " 

"  Likewise." 

He  moved  slightly,  and  there  was  a  sort  of  metallic 
clank — evidently  a  kettle  or  tea-pot,  that  indispen- 
sable accessory  of  the  pilgrim  to  holy  places ;  but  in 
his  tone  there  was  not  a  trace  of  that  foxy  unction 
which  always  betrays  the  pilgrim ;  in  his  tone  there  was 
nothing  of  the  pilgrim's  obligatory  thievish  oiliness, 
and,  so  far,  his  words  were  unaccompanied  by  any 
pious  groans  or  quotations  from  "  the  Scriptures."  In 
general  he  did  not  at  all  resemble  the  professional 
loafers  at  the  holy  places — that  shoddy  and  endless 
variety  of  "  Russian  Vagabondage,"  whose  lies  and 
superstitions  have  such  an  effect  upon  the  spiritually- 
hungry  and  starving  rural  population.  Besides,  he 
was  going  to  Nikolaiev,  where  there  were  neither 
shrines  nor  relics  .  .  . 

"And  where  are  you  coming  from?  "  I  inquired. 

"From  Astrakhan." 

Now  in  Astrakhan  also  there  are  no  relics.  Then 
I  asked  him: 

"  Doesn't  that  mean  you  are  going  from  sea  to  sea 
and  not  to  the  holy  places  at  all  ?  " 

"  Nay,  but  I  go  to  the  holy  places  too.  Why  should 
I  not  go  to  the  holy  places?  I  go  with  pleasure 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  87 

.  . ;.  .  they  always  feed  you  well  there  .  .  . 
especially  if  you  get  intimate  with  the  monks.  Our 
brother  Isaac*  is  much  respected  by  them,  because  he 
makes  life  a  little  less  monotonous  for  them.  What 
are  your  views  on  the  subject  ?  " 

I  explained 

"  They  are  feeding-places,"  he  admitted.  "  And 
whither  then  do  you  go?  Aha!  you  find  the  way 
is  long,  eh?  Strike  a  match  and  we'll  smoke  a  little 
more.  When  one  smokes  one  grows  a  little  wanner." 

It  really  was  cold,  not  only  because  of  the  wind, 
which  impudently  blew  right  in  upon  us,  but  because 
of  our  wet  clothes. 

"Perhaps  you'd  like  something  to  eat?  I  have 
bread,  potatoes,  and  two  roasted  ravens  .  .  . 
have  some  ?  " 

"  Ravens  ?  "  I  inquired  inquisitively. 

"Never  tasted  them?    They're  not  bad    .    .     ." 

He  chucked  me  a  large  piece  of  bread. 

I  didn't  try  the  raven. 

"  Come,  try  them !  In  the  autumn  they're  capital 
And  after  all  it  is  much  more  pleasant  to  eat  raven 
angled  for  by  your  own  hands  than  bread  or  fat 
given  to  you  by  the  hand  of  a  neighbour  out  of  the 
window  of  his  house,  which,  after  you  have  accepted 
it  as  an  alms,  you  always  want  to  burn." 

His  remarks  were  reasonable — reasonable  and  in- 
teresting. The  use  of  raven  as  an  article  of  food 

•  Himself. 


88  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

was  new  to  me  but  did  not  cause  me  any  surprise, 
I  knew  that  in  winter  at  Odessa  "  the  lower  orders  " 
eat  rats,  and  at  Rostov — slugs.  There  was  nothing 
improbable  in  it.  Even  the  Parisians,  when  in  a  state 
of  siege,  were  glad  to  eat  all  sorts  of  rubbish,  and 
there  are  people  who  all  their  life  long  live  in  a  state 
of  siege. 

"  And  how  do  you  catch  your  ravens  ?  "  my  desire 
for  information  led  me  to  ask. 

"  Not  with  your  mouth,  anyhow.  You  can  knock 
them  down  with  a  stick  or  a  stone,  but  the  surest  way 
is  to  fish  for  them !  You  must  tie  a  piece  of  fat  meat 
or  a  bit  of  bread  at  the  end  of  a  long  piece  of  cord. 
The  raven  seizes  it,  gulps  it  down,  and  you  haul  him 
in.  Then  you  twist  his  neck,  pluck  him,  draw  him, 
and,  fastening  him  on  to  a  stick,  roast  him  over  a 
fire." 

"  Ah !  it  would  be  nice  to  be  sitting  by  a  fire  now," 
I  sighed. 

The  cold  had  become  more  sensible.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  very  wind  were  freezing,  it  beat  against  the 
walls  of  the  magazine  with  such  a  painful  tremulous 
whine.  Sometimes  it  was  wafted  to  us  along  with 
the  howl  of  some  dog,  the  crowing  of  a  cock,  and  the 
melancholy  sound  of  the  bell  of  the  village  church, 
hidden  in  the  darkness.  Drops  of  rain  fell  heavily 
from  the  roof  of  the  magazine  on  to  the  wet  earth. 

"  'Tis  dull  to  be  silent,"  observed  my  fellow  night- 
lodger. 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  89 

"  It's  rather  cold     ...     to  talk,"  I  said. 

"  Put  your  tongue  in  your  pocket  ...  it  will 
warm  it  up." 

"  Thanks  for  the  hint!" 

"  We  will  go  together,  eh  ?  When  we  take  the 
road  I  mean  ...  ?  " 

"  All  right !  " 

"  Let  ua  introduce  ourselves  then  ...  I,  for 
instance,  am  Pavel  Ignat'ev  Promtov,  Esq." 

I  introduced  myself  likewise. 

"  That's  right,  now  we  know  where  we  are !  And 
now  I'll  ask  you  how  you  came  to  fall  into  these  paths. 
Was  it  through  a  weakness  for  vodka,  eh  ?  " 

"  It  was  from  disgust  of  life." 

"  That's  possible,  too.  Do  you  know  that  publi- 
cation of  the  Senate,  entitled :  Judicial  Investiga- 
tions?" 

"  Yes." 

"Is  your  name  also  printed  there  ?  " 

At  that  time  I  had  had  nothing  printed  about  me, 
and  so  I  told  him. 

"  I  also  am  not  in  print." 

"  But  have  you  done  anything?  " 

"  Everything  is  in  God's  hands." 

"  But  you  are  a  merry  fellow,  apparently  ?  " 

"What's  the  good  of  grizzling?" 

"  Not  everyone  in  your  situation  would  talk  like 
that  ..."  I  doubted  the  sincerity  of  his  words. 

"  The  situation     ...     is  damp  and  cold,  but  then 


90  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

you  see  it  will  be  quite  different  at  dawn  of  day. 
The  sun  will  come  out,  and  then  we  shall  creep  out 
of  this,  have  some  tea,  eat  and  drink,  and  warm  our- 
selves. That  won't  be  bad,  eh?  " 

"  Very  good !  "  I  admitted. 

"  So  there,  you  see,  every  evil  has  its  good  side." 

"  And  every  good  thing  its  evil  side." 

"  Amen  ! "  exclaimed  Promtov  with  the  voice  of  a 
deacon. 

God  knows  he  was  a  merry  comrade  enough.  I 
regretted  that  I  could  not  see  his  face,  which,  judging 
from  the  rich  intonation  of  his  voice,  must  have  shown 
a  very  expressive  play  of  feature.  We  talked  about 
trifles  for  a  long  time,  concealing  from  each  other  our 
mutual  desire  to  bei  more  closely  acquainted,  and  I 
was  inwardly  lost  in  admiration  at  the  dexterity  with 
which  he  inveigled  me  into  blabbing  about  myself 
while  he  kept  his  own  counsel. 

While  we  were  quietly  conversing  the  rain  ceased, 
and  the  darkness  began  to  melt  away ;  already  in  the 
East  a  rosy  strip  of  dawn  was  glowing  with  a  vivid 
radiance.  Simultaneously  with  the  dawn  the  fresh- 
ness of  morning  made  itself  felt — that  freshness  which 
is  so  stimulatingly  pleasant  when  it  meets  a  man 
dressed  in  warm  and  dry  clothes. 

"I  wonder  if  we  could  find  anything  here  for  a 
fire — dry  twigs  for  instance  ?  "  inquired  Promtov. 

Crawling  on  the  floor  we  searched  and  searched,  but 
could  find  nothing.  Then  we  decided  to  drag  out 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  91 

one  of  the  boards  not  very  firmly  fixed  in  its  place. 
We  pulled  it  out  and  converted  it  into  firewood.  After 
that  Promtov  proposed  that  we  should,  if  possible, 
bore  a  hole  in  the  floor  of  the  magazine  in  order  to 
get  some  rye  grain — for  if  rye  grain  is  boiled  it  makes 
a  very  good  dish.  I  protested,  observing  that  it  was 
not  proper — f  or  thereby  we  should  waste  some  hundred- 
weights of  grain  for  the  sake  of  a  pound  or  two. 

"  And  what  business  is  that  of  yours  ? "  asked 
Promtov. 

"  I  have  heard  that  one  must  respect  the  property  of 
others." 

"That,  my  dear  boy,  is  only  necessary  when  the 
property  is  your  own  .  .  .  and  it  is  only  necessary 
then  because  your  property  is  not  other  people's 
property.  .  ." 

I  was  silent,  but  I  reflected  that  this  man  must  have 
extremely  liberal  views  with  regard  to  property,  and 
that  the  pleasure  of  his  acquaintance  might,  con- 
ceivably, have  its  drawbacks. 

Soon  the  sun  appeared,  bright  and  cheerful.  Blue 
patches  of  sky  looked  out  from  the  broken  clouds 
which  were  sailing  slowly  and  wearily  towards  the 
north.  Drops  of  rain  were  sparkling  everywhere. 
Promtov  and  I  crept  out  of  the  magazine  and  entered 
the  fields,  amidst  the  bristles  of  the  mown  corn,  towards 
the  green  crooked  ribbon  'of  a  village  far  away  from 
us. 

"  There's  a  stream,"  said  my  acquaintance. 


93  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

I  looked  at  him,  and  thought  that  he  must  be  about 
forty,  and  that  life  was  no  joke  for  him.  His  dark  blue 
eyes,  deeply  sunken  in  their  orbits,  glistened  calmly 
and  confidently,  and  whenever  he  screwed  them  up  a 
bit  his  face  assumed  a  cunning  and  cruel  expression.  In 
his  steady  and  combative  gait,  in  the  leather  knapsack 
adroitly  slung  across  his  back,  in  his  whole  figure 
there  could  be  detected  the  passion  for  a  vagabond 
life,  lupine  experience  and  vulpine  craft 

"  We'll  go  along  together,  then,"  said  he  ;  "  straight 
across  the  stream,  five  miles  off,  is  the  village  of 
Mauzhelyeya,  and  from  thence  the  straight  road  to 
New  Prague.  Around  this  little  place  live  Stundists, 
Baptists,  and  other  mystical  muzhiks.  .  .  They'll 
feed  us  finely  if  we  set  about  amusing  them  properly. 
But  not  a  word  about  the  Scriptures  with  them.  They 
are  at  home,  as  it  were,  in  the  Scriptures.  .  ." 

We  chose  us  a  place  not  far  from  a  group  of  poplars, 
selected  some  stones,  numbers  of  which  had  been  cast 
upon  the  shore  by  the  little  stream,  all  turbid  with  the 
rain,  and  on  the  stones  laid  our  fire.  Two  versts  away 
from  us,  on  rising  ground,  stood  the  village,  and  on 
the  straw  of  its  roofs  shone  the  rosy  glow  of  dawn. 
The  walls  of  the  white  huts  were  hidden  by  the  sharp 
pyramids  of  the  poplars  coloured  by  the  tints  of 
autumn  and  the  rising  sun.  The  poplars  were 
enveloped  by  the  grey  smoke  from  the  chimneys, 
which  darkened  the  orange  and  purple  hues  of  the 
foliage  and  the  patches  of  fresh  blue  sky  between  it. 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  93 

*  I'm  going  to  bathe,"  observed  Promtov ;  n  that  is 
indispensable  after  so  wretched  a  night  I  advise  you 
to  do  the  same.  And  while  we  are  refreshing  our- 
selves the  tea  can  be  boiling.  You  know  we  ought  to 
see  to  it  that  our  nature  should  always  be  clean  and 
fresh." 

So  saying  he  began  to  undress.  His  body  was  the 
body  of  a  gentleman,  beautifully  shaped,  with  well- 
developed  muscles.  And  when  I  saw  him — naked,  his 
dirty  rags,  which  he  had  cast  from  him,  seemed  to  me 
doubly  filthy  and  disgusting — they  had  never  seemed 
so  bad  till  then.  After  ducking  in  the  bubbling  water 
of  the  stream  we  leaped  upon  the  shore  all  tremulous 
and  blue  with  cold,  and  hastily  put  on  our  clothes, 
which  had  been  warming  by  the  fire.  Then  we  sat 
down  by  the  fire  to  drink  our  tea. 

Promtov  had  an  iron  pipkin,  he  poured  scalding 
tea  into  it,  and  handed  it  to  me  first.  But  the  Devil, 
who  is  always  ready  to  mock  a  man,  seized  me  by  one 
of  the  lying  chords  of  my  heart,  and  I  observed 
magnanimously : 

"  Thank  you,  you  drink  first,  I'll  wait." 

I  said  this  with  the  firm  conviction  that  Promtov 
would  infallibly  vie  with  me  in  affability  and  polite- 
ness if  I  thus  offered  to  surrender  to  him  the  first 
drink  of  tea,  but  he  simply  said  :  "  Very  well,  then !  " 
— and  put  the  pipkin  to  his  mouth. 

I  turned  aside  and  began  to  gaze  steadily  at  the 
desolate  steppe,  wishing  to  convince  Promtov  that  I 


94  TALES   FROM   GORKY. 

did  not  see  how  venomously  his  dark  eyes  were 
laughing  at  me.  And  he,  while  he  sipped  his  tea, 
chewed  his  bread  deliberately,  smacked  his  lips  with 
gusto,  and  did  it  all" with  a  deliberation  that  was  torture 
to  me.  My  vitals  were  already  shivering  with  cold, 
and  I  was  ready  to  pour  the  boiling  water  in  the  kettle 
down  my  throat. 

"  Well,"  laughed  Promtov,  "  it's  not  very  profitable 
to  do  the  polite,  is  it  now  ?  " 

"Alas,  no!"  I  said 

"  Well,  that's  all  right !  You'll  learn  to  know  better 
in  time.  .  .  Why  yield  to  another  what  is  profitable 
or  pleasant  to  yourself  ? — that's  what  I  say.  They  say 
all  men  are  brethren,  yet  nobody  has  ever  attempted 
to  prove  it  by  any  system  of  measurement  .  ." 

"  Is  that  really  your  opinion  ?  " 

"  And  why  pray  shouldn't  I  speak  as  I  think  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  know  that  a  man  always  tries  to  brag  a 
little  bit  whatever  he  may  be.  .  ." 

"  I  know  not  why  I  should  have  inspired  you  with 
such  a  distrust  of  me,"  and  this  wolf  shrugged  his 
shoulders — "  I  suppose  it  is  because  I  gave  you  some 
bread  and  tea?  I  did  this  not  from  any  brotherly 
feeling,  but  out  of  curiosity.  I  see  a  man  not  in  his 
proper  place  and  I  want  to  know  how  and  by  what 
means  he  was  chucked  out  of  life.  .  ." 

"  And  I,  too,  wanted  to  know  the  same  thing.  Tell 
me  who  and  what  you  are  ?  "  I  asked. 

He   looked   searchingly  at   me   and   said,   after   a 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  95 

moment's  silence  :  "  A  man  never  knows  exactly  who 
he  is.  One  must  be  always  asking  him  what  he  takes 
himself  for." 

"  Well,  take  it  like  that" 

"  Well  ...  I  think  I  am  a  man  who  has 
no  room  in  life.  Life  is  narrow  and  I — am  broad. 
Possibly  this  may  not  be  true.  But  in  this  world  there 
is  a  peculiar  sort  of  people  who  must  be  descendants 
of  the  Wandering  Jew.  Their  peculiarity  is  that  they 
can  never  find  a  place  for  themselves  in  the  world  to 
which  they  can  stick  fast.  Inside  them  lives  an  unruly 
aching  desire  for  something  new.  The  small  fry  of 
this  order  of  men  are  never  able  to  work  things  out  to 
their  liking,  and  for  that  reason  are  always  dis- 
contented and  unhappy,  while  the  big  fish  are  never 
satisfied  with  anything — whether  it  be  women,  money, 
or  honour.  Such  people  are  not  beloved  in  this  life — 
they  are  audacious  and  unendurable.  You  see,  the 
majority  of  people  are  sixpences  in  current  coin,  and 
all  the  difference  between  them  is  the  date  when  they 
were  struck  off.  This  one  is  worn  out,  that  one  is 
quite  new  ;  but  their  value  is  the  same,  their  substance 
is  of  the  same  sort,  and  in  every  respect  they  are 
absolutely  similar.  Now  I  am  not  of  these  sixpences 
.  .  .  although  perhaps  I  may  be  a  half-sovereign. 
.  .  .  That  is  all." 

He  said  all  this  smiling  sceptically,  and  it  seemed  to 
me  that  he  did  not  believe  himself.  But  he  excited 
in  me  an  eager  curiosity,  and  I  resolved  to  go  with  him 


96  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

till  I  discovered  who  he  was.  It  was  plain  that  he  was 
a  so-called  "  intelligent  person."  There  are  many  of 
them  among  the  vagabonds,  but  they  are  all — dead 
people,  people  who  have  lost  all  self-respect,  who  lack 
the  capacity  of  esteeming  themselves,  and  only 
manage  to  live  by  falling  lower  every  day  into  filth 
and  nastiness  ;  finally,  they  dissolve  in  it  and  dis- 
appear from  life. 

But  there  was  something  substantial  and  durable 
about  Promtov.  And  he  did  not  grumble  at  life  as 
all  the  others  do. 

"  Well,  shall  we  go  on  ?  "  he  proposed, 

"By  all  means." 

We  rose  from  the  ground  warmed  by  tea  and  sun- 
shine, and  descended  the  bank  to  the  current  of  the 
stream. 

"  And  how  do  you  manage  to  get  food  ?  "  I  asked 
Promtov  .  .  .  "do you  work ? " 

"  Wo-o-rk  ?     No,  I  am  no  great  lover  of  that" 

"  But  how  then  do  you  manage  ?  " 

"  You  shall  see." 

He  was  silent  Presently,  after  walking  a  few  steps, 
he  began  whistling  through  his  teeth  some  merry  song. 
His  eyes  keenly  and  confidently  swept  the  steppe,  and 
he  walked  firmly  like  a  man  sure  of  his  object. 

I  looked  at  him,  and  the  desire  to  know  with  whom 
I  had  to  deal  burnt  still  more  strongly  within  me. 

The  steppe  surrounded  us,  desolate  and  quiet ;  above 
us  shone  the  friendly  sun  of  the  south ;  we  breathed 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  97 

with  all  our  lungs  the  pure  stimulating  air,  and  went 
along  in  the  direction  where  fragments  of  clouds 
jostled  one  another  in  a  chaos  of  shapes  and  colours. 

When  we  came  to  the  street  of  the  village — a  little 
dog  from  somewhere  or  other  bounded  under  our  very 
feet,  and  barking  loudly  began  to  turn  round  and 
round  us.  Every  time  we  looked  at  her,  she  bounded 
to  one  side,  like  a  ball,  with  a  terrified  yelp,  and  again 
fell  upon  us  barking  furiously.  Some  of  her  friends 
then  ran  out,  but  they  did  not  distinguish  themselves 
by  equal  zeal,  for  after  giving  a  bark  or  two  they 
retired  to  some  hiding-place.  Their  indifference 
seemed,  however,  to  excite  still  more  our  little  reddish 
doggie. 

"  Do  you  see  what  a  mean  nature  that  dog  has  ?  " 
observed  Promtov,  shaking  his  head  at  the  zealous 
little  dog.  "  And  it  is  all  lies  too.  She  knows  very 
well  that  barking  is  not  necessary  here,  and  she  is  not 
spiteful — she  is  a  coward,  and  only  wants  to  show  off 
before  her  master  The  little  devil  is  purely  human, 
and  without  doubt  she  has  been  educated  into  it 
.  .  .  People  spoil  their  beasts.  The  time  will  soon 
come  when  beasts  will  be  as  abject  and  insincere  as 
you  and  me  .  .  ." 

"  Thank  you,"  I  said. 

"  Don't  mention  it.  However,  now  I  must  take 
aim." 

His  expressive  countenance  now  put  on  a  pitiful 
mien,  his  eyes  grew  foolish,  he  became  all  bent  and 

G 


98  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

crooked,  and  his  rags  stood  up  straight  like  the  ftns 
of  a  chub. 

"  We  must  turn  to  our  neighbour  and  ask  for  bread," 
he  said  by  way  of  explaining  to  me  his  transformation, 
and  he  began  to  look  keenly  at  the  windows  of  the 
cottages.  At  the  window  of  one  of  the  cottages  stood 
a  woman  suckling  a  child.  Promtov  did  obeisance  to 
her,  and  said  in  a  supplicating  tone : 

"  My  sister,  give  bread  to  pilgrim  folk !  " 

"  Be  not  angry !  "  replied  the  woman,  measuring  us 
with  suspicious  eyes 

"  May  your  breasts  grow  dry,  then,  daughter  of  a 
dog !  "  was  the  valediction  my  fellow-traveller  sourly 
threw  her. 

The  woman  screamed  like  one  who  has  been  stung, 
and  rushed  out  to  us. 

"  Oh,  you,  you    .    .    ."  she  began. 

Promtov,  without  moving  from  the  spot,  looked  her 
straight  in  the  face  with  his  black  eyes,  and  their 
expression  was  savage  and  malevolent  .  .  .  The 
woman  grew  pale,  trembled,  and  murmuring  some- 
thing, quickly  entered  the  hut 

"  Let  us  go,"  I  proposed  to  Promtov. 

"  No,  we'll  wait  till  she  brings  out  the  bread." 

"  She'll  bring  out  the  men  upon  us  with  pitchforks." 

"  A  lot  you  know ! "  observed  this  wolf  with  a 
sceptical  smile. 

He  was  right  The  woman  appeared  before  us, 
holding  in  her  hands  half  a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  solid 


A   ROLLING    STONE.  99 

bit  of  fat.  Bowing  low  and  silently  to  Promtov,  she 
said  to  him  with  the  tone  of  a  suppliant : 

"  Pray  take  it,  oh,  man  of  God !  be  not  angry !  " 

"  God  deliver  thee  from  the  evil  eye,  from  sorcery, 
and  from  the  ague !  "  was  the  unctuous  farewell  with 
which  Promtov  parted  from  her,  and  so  we  went  on 
our  way. 

"  Listen  now ! "  said  I,  when  we  were  already  a 
good  way  from  the  cottage,  "  what  an  odd  way  of 
begging  alms  you  have — to  say  no  more." 

"  It's  the  best  way.  If  you  ftx  your  eyes  upon  the 
woman  for  a  little,  she  takes  you  for  a  sorcerer,  grows 
scared,  and  will  not  only  give  you  bread  but  the  whole 
concern  if  necessary.  Why  should  I  beg  and  pray 
and  lower  myself  before  her  when  I  can  command? 
I  have  always  thought  that  it  is  better  to  take  than  to 
beg  .  .  .  but  if  you  cannot  take,  you  must  beg, 
I  suppose  .  .  ." 

"  And  has  it  never  happened  that  instead  of  bread 
you  sometimes  .  .  ." 

"  Got  one  for  myself,  eh  ?  No.  Trust  to  me  for 
that!  My  dear  brother,  let  me  tell  you  that  I  have 
got  a  magic  little  bit  of  paper,  and  I've  only  got  to 
show  it  to  a  muzhik,*  and  he  is  instantly  my  slave. 
Would  you  like  me  to  show  it  to  you?  " 

I  held  in  my  hands  a  pretty  dirty  and  crumpled 
piece  of  paper,  and  perceived  that  it  was  a  transit 

*  Peasant. 


ioo  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

certificate  issued  to  Pavel  Ignat'ev  Pfomtov  by  the 
administrative  authorities  of  Petersburg,  permitting 
him  to  journey  from  Astrakhan  to  Nikolaiev.  The 
paper  bore  the  seal  of  the  Astrakhan  police-office, 
with  the  corresponding  signatures — all  quite  regular. 

"I  don't  understand,"  I  said,  returning  this  docu- 
ment into  the  hands  of  its  proprietor.  "  How  is  it 
you  are  starting  from  Astrakhan,  when  your  point 
of  departure  was  St  Petersburg  ?  " 

He  smiled,  his  whole  face  expressed  the  conscious- 
ness of  his  superiority  over  me. 

"  Look  now,  it's  quite  simple.  Think  it  out  They 
sent  me  from  Petersburg,  and  in  sending  me  invited 
me  to  choose,  for  certain  reasons,  my  place  of  resi- 
dence. Say  I  choose  Kursk,  for  example.  Well,  I 
appear  at  Kursk,  and  go  to  the  police-station.  I  have 
the  honour  to  present  myself  there.  The  Kursk  police 
cannot  welcome  me  amiably — they  have  their  own 
little  brothers  there — and  are  full  up.  They  assume 
that  they  have  before  them  a  sharper,  and  a  clever 
sharper  too;  if  they  cannot  rid  themselves  of  him 
forcibly  with  the  assistance  of  the  statutes,  they  must 
have  recourse  to  administrative  measures  in  order  to 
get  shot  of  him.  And  they  are  always  glad  to  send 
me  packing — even  if  they  plunge  me  into  fresh  misery. 
"Perceiving  their  embarrassment  I  humanely  come  to 
their  assistance.  Well,  well,  I  say,  I  had  already 
thosen  my  place  of  residence,  but  perhaps  you  would 
like  me  to  choose  it  over  again?  They  are  only  too 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  101 

glad  to  get  quit  'of  me.  I  say,  too,  that  I  am  ready  to 
withdraw  myself  from  the  sphere  of  their  duty,  which 
is  to  preserve  the  inviolability  of  person  and  property, 
but  as  a  reward  for  my  amiability  they  must  give  me 
some  provision  for  the  road.  They  give  me  five  roubles 
or  ten,  a  little  more  or  less,  as  the  case  may  be,  having 
regard  to  my  temperament  and  character — and  they 
always  give  gladly.  It  is  always  better  to  lose  a  fiver 
than  to  saddle  themselves  with  grave  inconvenience 
in  my  person — isn't  it?" 

"  Possibly,"  I  said. 

"  It  is  really  so.  And  they  provide  me  besides  with 
a  little  piece  of  paper  in  no  way  resembling  a  pass- 
port It  is  in  its  difference  from  a  passport  that  the 
magic  power  of  this  little  piece  of  paper  consists. 
On  it  is  written,  '  ad-min-is-tra-tive-ly  sent  from 
Pet-ers-burg ! '  Oh !  I  show  this  to  the  starosta*  who, 
generally,  is  as  dull  as  a  clod,  and  devil  a  bit  of  it 
does  he  understand.  He  fears  it — there  is  a  seal  upon 
it.  I  say  to  him — on  the  strength  of  this  bit  of  paper 
— you  are  bound  to  give  me  a  night's  lodging!  He 
gives  it  to  me.  You  are  bound  to  feed  me!  He 
feeds  me.  He  cannot  do  otherwise,  for  on  the  paper 
is  inscribed — from  St  Petersburg  administratively. 
What's  the  meaning  ot  this  '  administratively '  ? — the 
deuce  only  knows.  It  may  mean :  sent  on  a  secret 
mission  for  investigating  the  condition  of  the  coast 
industries,  or  inquiring  as  to  the  issue  of  false  coin,  or 
*  Village  elder. 


loa  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

preventing  illicit  distilling,  ox  carrying  out  the  sale  of 
contraband  goods.  Or  it  may  imply  an  inquiry 
whether  the  people  properly  attend  the  services  of 
the  Orthodox  Church  as  prescribed.  Or  possibly  it 
has  something  to  do  with  the  land  Who  can  decide 
what  '  administratively  from  Petersburg '  means  ? 
Possibly  I  may  be  someone  in  disguise.  The  muzhik 
is  stupid,  what  can  he  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  does  not  understand  much,"  I  observed 

"  And  a  very  good  thing  too !  "  declared  Promtov 
with  lively  satisfaction.  "  Such  he  is  and  ought  to 
be,  and  such  as  he  is,  and  only  so,  he  is  indispensable 
to  us  all  like  the  very  air.  For  what  is  the  muzhik? 
The  muzhik  is  for  us  all  the  means  of  nutriment,  that 
is  to  say,  he  is  an  edible  creature.  Look  at  me  for 
instance !  Would  it  be  possible  for  me  to  exist  upon 
this  earth  but  for  the  muzhik?  Four  things  are  in- 
dispensable for  the  existence  of  man :  the  sun,  water, 
air,  and  the  muzhik. 

"And  the  land?" 

"  Granted  the  muzhik — and  you  have  the  land  as 
well.  You  have  but  to  command  him.  Hie,  you 
there !  create  the  land,  and  there  the  land  will  be.  He 
cannot  disobey." 

This  merry  vagrant  loved  talking!  We  had  long 
since  passed  the  village,  left  behind  us  many  farms, 
and  once  more  another  village  stood  before  us,  sub- 
merged in  the  orange  foliage  of  autumn.  Promtov 
chattered  on — as  merrily  as  a  finch — and  I  listened 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  103 

to  him,  and  thought  about  the  muzhik  and  this  new 
kind  of  parasite,  unknown  to  me  before,  participating 
in  the  illusory  prosperity  of  the  muzhik.  .  .  When 
will  the  muzhik  be  well  repaid  for  all  the  evil  with 
which  he  has  been  so  liberally  requited  ?  Here,  along- 
side of  me,  marched  the  product  of  town  life — a  cynical 
and  sensible  vagrant,  living  on  the  vital  juices  of  this 
poor  muzhik,  a  wolf  fully  conscious  of  his  lupine 
strength. 

"  Listen  now " — a  circumstance  had  suddenly 
occurred  to  me — "  we  meet  under  conditions  which 
induce  me  strongly  to  doubt  the  efficacy  of  your 
bit  of  paper — how  do  you  explain  it  ?  " 

"  Aye,  aye !  "  laughed  Promtov,  "  very  simply.  I 
had  already  passed  through  that  place,  and  it  is  not 
always  convenient  to  bring  yourself  back  to  people's 
recollection  as  you  know." 

His  candour  pleased  me.  Candour  is  always  a  good 
quality,  and  it  is  a  great  pity  that  it  is  so  rarely  to  be 
met  with  among  respectable  people.  And  I  listened 
attentively  to  the  random  chatter  of  my  comrade,  trying 
to  make  up  my  mind  whether  the  picture  he  drew  of 
himself  was  the  real  one. 

"  Here  is  a  village  in  front  of  us!  If  you  like  I  will 
show  you  the  power  of  my  bit  of  paper — what  do  you 
say  ?  "  proposed  Promtov. 

I  objected  to  the  experiment,  proposing  instead  that 
he  should  tell  me  how  he  had  really  earned  this  piece 
of  paper. 


io4  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"  Well,  that  is  a  long,  long  story,"  said  he,  waving 
his  hand  "  But  I'll  tell  you — one  day.  Meantime  let 
us  rest  and  have  a  snack  We  have)  an  ample  store 
of  food,  which  means  that  it  is  not  necessary  at  present 
to  go  into  the  village  and  trouble  our  neighbour." 

Quitting  the  road,  we  sat  down  on  the  ground  and 
began  to  eat.  Then,  made  lazy  by  the  warm  beams 
of  the  sun  and  the  breath  of  the  soft  wind  of  the 
steppe,  we  lay  down  and  slept  .  .  When  we 
awoke,  the  sun  purple  and  large  was  already  on  the 
horizon,  and  on  the  steppe  the  mists  of  the  southern 
evening  were  encamping. 

"  Now  you  shall  see,"  declared  Promtov.  "  Fate  is 
content  that  we  should  pass  the  night  in  that  little 
village." 

"  Let  us  go  while  there  is  still  light,"  I  proposed. 

"  Don't  be  afraid.  To-night  we  shall  have  a  roof 
above  our  heads." 

He  was  right.  At  the  first  hut  at  which  we  knocked 
and  asked  for  a  night's  lodging  we  were  hospitably- 
invited  to  come  in. 

The  fl  guid  man  "  of  the  hut,  a  big,  good-natured 
fellow,  had  just  come  in  from  the  fields  where  he  had 
been  ploughing,  his  "  guid  wife  "  was  making  supper 
ready.  Four  grimy  little  children,  huddled  into  a  heap 
in  a  corner  of  the  room,  peeped  out  at  us  from  thence 
with  timid,  inquisitive  eyes.  The  buxom  housewife 
bustled  about  from  the  hut  to  the  outhouse  swiftly  and 
silently,  bringing  bread  and  water-melons  and  milk. 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  105 

The  master  of  the  house  sat  down  on  a  bench  opposite 
to  us  rubbing  his  stomach  with  an  air  of  concentration, 
and  fixing  penetrating  glances  upon  us-  Presently 
the  usual  question  came  from  him : 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"We're  going,  dear  man,  from  sea  to  sea,  to  the 
city  of  Kiev,"  replied  Promtov  cheerfully  in  the  words 
of  the  old  cradle  song. 

"What  is  there  to  be  seen  at  Kiev?  "  inquired  the 
*  guid  man  "  meditatively. 

"  The  holy  relics" 

The  "  guid  man  "  looked  at  Promtov  in  silence  and 
spat  Then  after  a  pause  he  asked  : 

"  And  from  whence  do  you  come  ?  " 

"I  from  Petersburg,  he  from  Moscow,"  answered 
Promtov. 

"  All  that  way?  " — the  "  guid  man  "  raised  his  brows. 
"  And  what's  Petersburg  like  ?  Folks  say  that  it  is 
built  upon  the  sea  and  that  it  is  often  under  water."* 

Here  the  door  opened  and  two  other  khokhli\  came 
in. 

"  We  want  a  word  with  you,  Michael,"  said  one  of 
them. 

"  What  have  you  got  to  say  to  me  ?  " 

"  It's  this — who  are  these  people  ?  M 

*  The  peasant  uses  the  Ruthenian  dialect,  the  effect  of  which  is  lost 
in  a  translation. 

f  "Tuft-headed,"  the  name  given  to  the  Little  Russians  by  the 
Great  Russians,  from  their  mode  of  wearing  their  hair. 


io6  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"  These  ?  "  asked  our  host,  nodding  his  head  at  us. 

"  Yes/' 

Our  host  was  silent  and  thoughtful,  he  scratched 
his  head  a  bit 

"  I  should  like  to  know  myself,"  he  explained. 

"Maybe  you  are  pilgrims?"  they  inquired  of  us. 

"Yes! "  replied  Promtov. 

A  long  silence  prevailed,  in  the  course  of  which  the 
three  khokhli  regarded  us  doggedly,  suspiciously,  and 
inquisitively.  At  last  they  all  sat  down  to  table  and 
began,  with  loud  crunching,  to  consume  the  crimson 
water-melons. 

"  Maybe  one  of  you  is  a  scholar?  "  said  one  of  the 
khokhli,  turning  towards  Promtov. 

"  Both !  "  curtly  replied  Promtov. 

"  Then  perchance  you  know  what  a  man  ought  to 
do  when  his  backbone  smarts  and  itches  to  that  degree 
that  he  cannot  sleep  o'  nights?  " 

"  We  do  know,"  replied  Promtov. 

"What?" 

Promtov  went  on  chewing  his  bread  for  a  long  time, 
dried  his  hands  on  his  rags,  then  pensively  regarded 
the  ceiling  and,  at  last,  observed  decisively  and  even 
severely : 

"  Break  up  a  loaf  and  get  your  old  woman  at  night 
to  rub  your  spine  with  the  crummy  part,  and  afterwards 
anoint  it  with  hemp-oil  and  fat  ...  that's  all ! " 

"What  will  come  of  it?"  inquired  the  khokhol* 

*  Singular  of  khokhli. 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  107 

"Nothing,"   and  Promtov  shrugged  his  shoulders 

"  Nothing." 

"Why  should  anything  come  of  it?" 

"  Yet  it's  a  good  remedy?  " 

"Yes,  it's  a  good  remedy." 

"I'll  try  it.     Thanks!" 

"  To  your  good  health ! "  said  Promtov  perfectly 
seriously. 

There  was  a  long  silence  amidst  the  crunching  of 
the  water-melons  and  the  whispering  of  the  children. 

"  Hark  ye,"  began  the  owner  of  the  hut,  "  maybe 
you  have  heard  all  about  it  at  Moscow — I  mean 
about  Siberia — is  it  possible  to  settle  there  or  not? 
Our  district  magistrate  said — but  no  doubt  he  lies — 
that  it  is  quite  impossible !  " 

"  Impossible !  "  observed  Promtov  with  an  air  of 
astonishment 

The  khokhli  glanced  at  each  other,  and  the  master 
of  the  house  murmured  in  his  beard :  "  May  a  toad 
crawl  into  his  stomach !  " 

"  Impossible !  "  repeated  Promtov,  and  suddenly  his 
face  glowed  with  enthusiasm;  "it  is  impossible,  but 
why  go  to  Siberia  at  all  when  there  is  so  much  land 
everywhere — as  much  as  you  please  ?  " 

"  Well,  truly  there's  enough  for  the  dead  and  to 
spare — but  it  is  the  living  who  stand  in  need  of  it," 
remarked  one  of  the  khokhli  sadly. 

"  In  Petersburg  it  has  been  decided,"  continued 
Promtov  triumphantly,  "  to  take  all  the  land  belonging 


io8  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

to  the  gentry  and  the  peasantry  and  make  crown 
property  of  it." 

The  khokhli  looked  at  him  with  wild  wide-open 
eyes  and  were  silent  Promtov  regarded  them 
severely  and  asked: 

"  Yes,  make  crown  property  of  it — and  do  you  know 
why?" 

The  silence  assumed  an  intense  character,  and  the 
poor  khokhli,  apparently,  were  almost  bursting  with 
anxiety  and  expectation.  I  looked  at  them,  and 
was  scarce  able  to  restrain  the  anger  excited  in  me 
by  the  practical  joke  which  Promtov  was  thus  making 
at  the  poor  creatures'  expense.  But  to  have  betrayed 
his  audacious  falsehood  to  them  would  have  meant  a 
whacking  for  him,  so  I  held  my  peace,  overwhelmed 
by  this  foolish  dilemma. 

"  Speak  out,  good  man,  and  tell  us !  "  asked  one  of 
the  khokhli  quietly  and  timidly,  with  a  stifled  voice. 

"They  are  going  to  take  away  the  land  in  order 
to  redistribute  it  more  fairly  among  the  peasants.  It 
has  been  decided  there  " — here  Promtov  waved  his 
hand  vaguely  to  one  side — "  that  the  true  owner  of 
the  land  is  the  peasant,  and  so  it  has  been  ordered 
that  there  shall  be  no  emigration  to  Siberia,  but  people 
are  to  wait  till  the  land  is  divided.  .  ." 

One  of  the  khokhli  let  his  slice  of  melon  fall  out  of 
his  mouth  in  his  excitement.  All  of  them  looked 
intently  at  Promtov's  mouth  with  greedy  eyes  and 
were  silent,  being  much  impressed  by  the  strange  in- 


A   ROLLING    STONE.  109 

telligence.  And  then — a  few  seconds  afterwards — 
four  expressions  were  heard  almost  simultaneously: 

"  Most  holy  mother !  " — from  the  woman  almost 
hysterically. 

"  But    .    .    .     maybe  you  are  lying !  " 

"  Nay,  but  tell  us  more,  good  man !  " 

"Ah,  that's  why  we  have  had  such  bright  dawns 
and  sunsets !  "  exclaimed  the  khokhol  whose  back- 
bone had  ached,  with  conviction. 

"It  is  only  a  rumour,"  said  I.  "  No  doubt  all  this 
sounds  very  much  like  falsehood.  .  ." 

Promtov  regarded  me  with  genuine  amazement  and 
exclaimed  fiercely: 

"  What  rumour  ?    What  lies  ?    What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

And  there  poured  from  his  lips  the  melody  of  a 
most  audacious  falsehood — sweet  music  for  all  who  were 
listening  to  him  except  myself.  He  liked  the  fun  of 
spinning  yarns.  The  khokhli,  whom  he  wanted  to 
persuade,  were  ready  to  jump  into  his  mouth.  But  it 
was  abominable  to  me  to  listen  to  his  inspired  false- 
hoods, which  might  very  well  result  in  bringing  down 
a  great  misfortune  upon  the  heads  of  these  simple- 
minded  folks.  I  left  the  hut  and  lay  down  in  the 
courtyard  thinking  how  best  I  could  spoil  the  villainous 
game  of  my  travelling-companion.  His  voice  sounded 
for  a  long  time  in  my  ears,  and  then  I  fell  asleep. 

I  was  awakened  by  Promtov  at  sunrise. 

"  Get  up !     Let's  be  off !  "  he  said. 

Beside  him  stood  the  sleepy  master  of  the  hut,  and 


no  TALES   FROM    GORKY. 

the  knapsack  of  Promtov  was  bulging  out  on  all  sides. 
We  took  our  leave  and  departed.  Promtov  was 
merry.  He  sang,  he  whistled,  and  cast  ironical  side- 
long glances  at  me.  I  was  thinking  what  I  should  say 
to  him  and  walked  by  his  side  in  silence. 

"Well!  why  don't  you  crucify  me?"  he  suddenly 
asked. 

"  And  are  you  aware  of  what  will  follow  from  all 
this  ?  "  I  drily  inquired. 

"  Why,  of  course !  I  understand  you,  and  I  know 
that  you  ought  to  turn  the  jest  against  me.  I'll  even 
tell  you  how  you'll  do  it  Would  you  like  to  hear? 
But  better  far — chuck  it!  What  harm  is  there  in 
putting  ideas  into  the  heads  of  these  muzhiks  ?  They 
will  be  none  the  wiser  for  it  And,  besides,  I've  played 
my  game  well  Look  how  they've  stuffed  my  knapsack 
forme!" 

"  But  you  may  bring  them  under  the  stick !  " 

"Scarcely.  .  .  And  what  if  I  did?  What  have 
I  to  do  with  other  folks'  backs.  God  grant  we  may 
keep  our  own  backs  whole,  that's  all !  That's  not 
moral  I  know,  but  what  do  I  care  whether  a  thing  is 
moral  or  not  moral.  You'll  agree  that  that's  nobody's 
business." 

"  Come,"  thought  I,  "  the  wolfs  about  right" 

"Assume  that  they  do  suffer  through  my  fault — 
I  suppose  the  sky  will  still  be  blue  and  the  sea  salt." 

"  But  are  you  not  sorry  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit    .    .     I  am  a  rolling  stone,  and  every- 


A   ROLLING    STONE.  in 

thing  which  the  wind  casts  beneath  my  feet  wounds 
me  in  the  side." 

He  was  serious  and  intensely  wrathful,  and  his  eyes 
gleamed  vindictively. 

"  I  always  do  like  that  and  sometimes  worse.  Once 
I  recommended  a  muzhik  to  drink  constantly  olive  oil 
mixed  with  blackbeetles  for  a  pain  in  the  stomach, 
because  he  was  a  skin-flint.  Not  a  little  evil  of  a 
humorous  sort  have  I  wrought  during  my  earthly 
pilgrimage.  How  many  stupid  superstitions  and 
mystifications  have  I  not  introduced  into  the  spiritual 
parts  of  the  muzhik?  .  .  And  in  general  I  am 
never  very  particular.  Why  should  I  be?  For  the 
sake  of  a  few  statutes,  eh?  Are  there  not  other  laws 
within  myself  ?  This,  my  confession  of  faith,  has  also 
the  sanction  'of  John  Chrysostom,  who  says:  'the 
true  Shekina — is  man.'  " 

"But  why  boast  of  it?" 

"  That  is  wrong,  eh  ? — from  your  point  of  view.  But 
I,  you  see,  am  no  great  lover  of  gentlemanly  points 
of  'view  .  .  .  and  I  assume  that  if  people  lift  a 
stick  to  me  it  is  my  duty  to  respond  with  a  stick  and 
not  with  an  obeisance." 

As  I  listened  to  him  I  reflected  that  it  would  be  well 
for  me  to  recollect  the  first  Psalm  of  King  David,  and 
depart  from  the  way  of  this  sinner.  But  then  I 
wanted  to  know  his  history. 

I  spent  three  more  days  with  him,  and  during  these 
three  days  I  became  convinced  of  much  which  I  had 


na  TALES   FROM    GORKY. 

previously  only  suspected  Thus,  for  example,  it 
became  quite  clear  to  me  in  what  manner  various 
useless  and  ancient  objects  found  their  way  into 
Promtov's  knapsack,  such  as  the  lower  half  of  a  copper 
candlestick,  a  chisel,  a  bit  of  lace,  and  a  necklace.  I 
understood  that  I  was  running  the  risk  of  a  flogging 
and  perhaps  of  falling  into  those  places  which  finally 
receive  collectors  similar  to  Promtov.  I  should  really 
have  to  part  from  him.  But  then,  his  story! 

And  lo!  one  day  when  the  wind  was  howling 
savagely,  knocking  us  off  our  legs,  and  we  found 
ourselves  in  a  haystack  sheltering  from  the  cold, 
Promtov  told  me  the  story  of  his  life. 


II. 

THE  STORY  OF  HIS  LIFE. 

WELL — then !  let  us  discourse  for  your  profit  and  edifi- 
cation .  .  .  I'll  begin  with  papa.  My  papa  was 
a  stern  and  conscientious  man,  just  touching  upon  his 
sixtieth  year,  on  half-pay,  and  he  settled  down  in  a 
little  country  town  where  he  bought  himself  a  little 
house.  My  mamma  was  a  woman  with  a  kind 
heart  and  generous  blood  .  .  .  For  me,  at 
any  rate,  he  had  no  respect  For  every  trifle  he 
made  me  kneel  in  a  corner  and  lambed  into 
me  with  a  strap.  But  mamma  loved  me,  and 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  113 

it  was  pleasant  to  live  with  her.  .  .  At  the 
time  papa  moved  into  the  little  provincial  town, 
I  was  in  the  sixth  class  of  the  Gymnasium,  but  I  was 
expelled  from  it  shortly  afterwards  for  getting  mixed 
up  with  the  teacher  of  physics.  ...  I  ought  to 
have  taken  my  lessons  in  physics  from  this  teacher, 
and  I  took  them  instead  from  the  head  master's 
chambermaid.  The  head  master  was  very  angry 
with  me  for  this,  and  drove  me  away  to  papa.  I 
appeared  before  him,  and  explained  that  here  I  was 
expelled  from  the  Temple  of  Learning  because  of  a 
misunderstanding  with  the  head  master.  But  the 
head  master  had  taken  the  precaution  of  informing 
my  father  of  the  whole  affair  by  letter,  so  that  the 
moment  papa  beheld  me  he  began  scolding  me  with 
all  sorts  of  nasty  words,  and  mamma  did  ditto.  When 
they  were  tired  of  scolding  me  they  resolved  to  send 
me  away  to  Pskov,  where  papa  had  a  brother  living 
So  they're  sending  me  to  Pskov,  I  said  to  myself ; 
well,  uncle  is  stupid  and  savage  enough,  but  my  dear 
little  cousins  are  nice  and  kind,  so  life  will  be  possible 
there  anyhow.  But  even  at  Pskov  it  soon  appeared 
that  I  had  no  friends  at  court,  so  to  speak.  In  three 
months  uncle  turned  me  out,  accusing  me  of  immoral 
conduct,  and  having  a  bad  influence  on  his  daughters. 
Again  I  was  scolded,  and  again  I  was  banished,  this 
time  to  the  country,  to  the  house  of  an  aunt  who 
lived  in  the  Government  of  Ryazan.  My  auntie 
seemed  to  be  a  glorious  and  good-natured  old  lady, 

II 


ii4  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

who  always  had  heaps  of  young  people  about  her. 
But  at  that  time  everyone  was  infected  by  the  foolish 
habit  of  reading  forbidden  books — and  suddenly  I 
found  myself  in  gaol,  where  I  suppose  I  must  have 
remained  three  or  four  months.  Mamma  thereupon 
instructed  me  by  letter  that  I  had  killed  her;  papa 
informed  me  that  I  had  dishonoured  him — what  very 
tiresome  parents  it  was  my  fate  to  have ! 

You  know  that  if  a  man  were  free  to  choose  his 
cjvn  parents  it  would  be  a  much  more  convenient 
arrangement  than  the  present  order  of  things — now, 
wouldn't  it  ?  Well,  well !  They  let  me  out  of  prison, 
and  I  went  to  Nijni-Novgorod,  where  I  had  a  married 
sister.  But  my  sister  appeared  to  be  overwhelmed 
by  family  cares,  and  very  ill-humoured  on  that  account 
What  was  I  to  do?  Just  at  the  nick  of  time  Mass 
was  being  celebrated,  and  I  joined  the  choir  of  singers. 
My  voice  was  good,  I  had  a  handsome  exterior,  they 
promoted  me  to  the  rank  of  solo-singer,  and  I  sang 
all  by  myself.  You  imagine,  I  suppose,  that  I  must 
have  taken  to  drink  on  this  occasion.  No,  even  now 
I  hardly  ever  drink  vodka,  only  sometimes,  and  that 
very  rarely — by  way  of  warming  myself.  A  drunkard 
I  never  was ;  of  course  I  have  had  my  fill  when 
good  wines  were  going — champagne  for  instance,  and 
if  you  gave  me  Marsala,  lota  of  it  I  mean,  I  should  un- 
doubtedly get  drunk  upon  it,  for  I  love  it  as  I  love 
women.  Women  I  love  to  frenzy — and  perhaps  I 
hate  'em  too,  for  in  the  end  I  always  feel  an 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  115 

irresistible  desire  to  play  them  some  dirty 
trick.  .  .  Well,  well!  Why  I  feel  so  mad  with 
them  sometimes  I  do  not  know  and  cannot  explain  to 
myself.  They  have  always  been  gracious  to  me>  for 
I  was  handsome  and  bold.  But  they're  such  ties! 
Well,  the  deuce  take  them  for  what  I  care.  I  love 
to  hear  them  cry  and  groan — for  then  I  always  think  : 
Aha!  now  you  are  having  your  deserts. 

However,  there  was  I  singing  away,  I  cared  not  what, 
so  long  as  I  had  a  merry  life.  Then,  one  day,  I  was 
suddenly  accosted  by  a  clean-shaven  man  who  appeared 
before  me  and  said  :  "  Have  you  ever  tried  acting  on 
the  stage  ?  "  Well,  I  had  played  a  part  in  domestic 
spectacles.  "  Would  you  like  to  earn  twenty-five 
roubles*  a  month  for  playing  light-comedy  parts  ?  " 
"  All  right !  "  said  I.  So  off  we  went  to  the  town  of 
Perm.  At  Perm  I  played  and  sang  in  comic  operas 
made  up  as  a  passionate  dark  young  chap — with  a 
past,  the  past  of  a  political  offender.  The  ladies 
were  in  raptures.  Then  I  took  the  second  lover  roles. 
"  Try  the  heroic  parts,"  they  said  to  me.  So  I  played 
the  part  of  Max  in  "  Errant  Fires,"  and  it  went  off 
capitally — I  knew  it  I  played  through  a  whole 
season.  That  summer  our  tour  was  a  great  success. 
We  played  at  Vyatka,  we  played  at  Ufa,  we  even 
played  at  Elabuga.  In  the  winter  we  returned  to 
Perm. 

*  £2  ios. 


n6  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

And  in  that  winter  I  felt  a  hatred  and  loathing 
of  mankind.  You  know  how  it  is.  You  appear  on 
the  stage,  and  you  see  hundreds  of  fools  and  wretches 
with  their  eyes  fixed  full  upon  you — that  slavish 
cowardly  shudder  (I  know  it  so  well)  runs  all  down 
your  back,  and  you  have  the  prickly  sensation  of  one 
who  has  sat  down  in  an  ant  heap.  They  look  upon 
you  as  their  plaything,  as  a  thing  which  they  have 
purchased  for  their  gratification  for  a  single  evening. 
They  have  the  power  to  condemn  or  to  approve.  And 
there  they  sit  waiting  to  see  whether  you  will  exert 
yourself  with  sufficient  diligence  to  please  them.  And 
if  they  think  that  you  have  used  sufhcient  diligence, 
they  will  bray — bray  like  tethered  asses,  and  you  must 
listen  to  them  and  feel  content  with  their  applause. 
For  a  time  you  will  forget  that  you  are  their  property 
.  .  .  then,  when  you  call  it  to  mind,  you  will  smite 
yourself  upon  the  snout  for  having  found  pleasure  in 
their  approval 

I  hated  this  "  public  "  to  the  verge  of  convulsions. 
Frequently  I  should  have  liked  to  have  spat  on  them 
from  the  stage,  to  have  rowed  them  with  the  vilest 
words.  There  were  times  when  their  eyes — you  will 
feel  with  me — pricked  my  body  like  darning-needles ; 
and  how  greedily  that  "  public  "  waits  for  you  to  tickle 
it — waits  with  the  confidence  of  that  lady  land-owner 
whose  serf-girls  used  to  scratch  the  soles  of  her  feet 
every  evening.  You  are  sensible  of  this  expectation 
of  theirs,  and  you  think  how  pleasant  it  would  be  to 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  117 

have  in  your  hand  a  knife  long  enough  to  clean  slice 
off  all  the  noses  of  the  first  row  of  spectators  at  a 
single  stroke.  Devil  take  the  whole  lot  of  them! 

But  pardon  me  this  outburst!  I  fear  that  for  the 
moment  I  was  becoming  quite  sentimental! — I  only 
meant  to  say  that  I  was  a  player,  that  I  hated  my 
public,  and  wanted  to  run  away  from  it.  In  this  I 
was  assisted  by  the  wife  of  a  procurator.  She  did  not 
please  me  and  that  did  not  please  her.  She  set  her 
husband  in  motion,  and  I  suddenly  appeared  in  the 
town  of  Saransk — just  as  if  I  were  a  grain  of  wheat 
whirled  by  the  wind  from  the  banks  of  the  Kama. 
Ah,  well!  everything  in  this  wretched  life  of  ours  is 
like  a  dream ! 

So  I  settled  down  in  the  town  of  Saransk,  and 
there  settled  down  along  with  me  the  young  wife  of 
a  young  Permiak  of  the  mercantile  persuasion.  She 
was  a  determined  character  and  dearly  loved  my  art. 
So  there  we  were  together.  We  had  no  money, 
neither  had  we  any  acquaintances.  Moreover,  I  was 
weary  of  her.  She  also,  from  sheer  ennui,  began  to 
din  it  into  me  that  I  did  not  love  her.  At  first  I 
endured  it  patiently,  but  after  a  bit  I  could  stand 
it  no  longer :  "  Be  off,"  I  cried !  "  leave  me !  go  to  the 
devil !  "  That  is  exactly  what  I  said  to  her.  She 
caught  up  a  revolver  and  fired  it  at  me.  The  bullet 
lodged  in  my  left  shoulder — a  little  lower  and  I 
should  have  been  in  Paradise  long  ago.  Anyhow, 
down  I  fell.  But  she  was  frightened,  and  in  her 
terror  leaped  into  a  well. 


ixS  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

And  there  she  soddened  to  death. 

Me  they  conducted  to  the  hospital.  Well,  there 
of  course  ladies  appeared  upon  the  scene 
They  revolved  around  me  till  I  was  able  to  stand  on 
my  legs  again,  and  when  I  could  do  that  I  got  the 
billet  of  secretary  to  the  local  police-station.  Well, 
say  what  you  will — to  be  associated  with  the  police  is 
more  convenient  than  to  be  under  police  supervision. 
So  there  I  lived  for  two  or  three  months.  .  . 

It  was  in  those  days,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  that 
I  had  an  attack  of  crushing,  overwhelming  ennui,  that 
most  horrible  of  all  sensations  to  which  humanity  is 
liable.  .  .  Everything  around  you  ceases  to  be  of 
interest,  and  you  desire  something  new.  You  cast 
about  hither  and  thither,  you  seek  and  seek,  you  find 
something,  you  seize  it,  and  immediately  you  discover 
it  is  not  what  you  wanted.  You  feel  yourself  led 
captive  by  something  dark,  you  feel  yourself  fettered 
within,  you  feel  yourself  incapable  of  living  in  the 
world  with  yourself,  and  yet  this  world  is  more  necessary 
to  a  man  than  everything  else.  A  wretched  condition 
of  things ! 

And  it  brought  me  at  last  to  such  a  pass  that  I 
married.  Such  a  step  in  a  man  of  my  character  is 
only  possible  in  case  of  anguish  or  drunkard's  head- 
ache. 

My  wife  was  the  daughter  of  a  priest,  who  lived 
with  her  mother — her  father  was  dead — and  had  the 
free  disposition  of  her  property.  She  had  her  own 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  119 

house,  you  might  even  say  mansion,  and  she  had 
money  besides.  She  was  a  handsome  girl,  no  fool, 
and  of  a  lively  disposition,  but  she  was  very  fond  of 
reading  books,  and  this  had  a  very  bad  effect  both 
upon  me  and  her.  She  was  constantly  fishing  for  rules 
of  life  in  all  sorts  of  little  books,  and  whenever  she  got 
what  she  wanted,  she  immediately  proceeded  to  apply 
it  personally  to  us  both.  Now,  from  my  tenderest 
years  morality  was  a  thing  I  never  could  endure.  .  . 
At  first  I  laughed  at  my  wife,  but  afterwards  it  became 
tiresome  to  listen  to  hear.  I  saw  that  she  always  made 
a  great  show  of  ideas  extracted  from  various  little 
books,  and  bookish  lore  is  about  as  suitable  for  a 
woman  as  his  master's  cast-off  costume  is  for  a  lackey. 
We  began  to  quarrel.  .  .  Then  I  made  the 
acquaintance  of  a  certain  priest — there  was  one  of 
that  sort  there — a  rogue  who  could  play  the  guitar 
and  sing,  dance  the  trepak*  to  admiration,  and  take 
his  skinful  like  a  man.  To  my  mind  he  was  the  best 
fellow  in  the  town,  because  one  could  always  live  a 
jolly  life  in  his  company,  and  she — that  is  my  wife — 
was  always  running  him  down,  and  always  tried  to 
drag  me  into  the  company  of  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees 
who  surrounded  her.  For  in  the  evenings  all  the 
serious  and  best  people  in  the  town,  as  she  called 
them,  used  to  assemble  at  her  house ;  and  serious 
enough  they  all  were,  as  serious,  to  my  mind,  as 

*  A  boisterous  national  dance  of  Russia. 


J20  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

gallows-birds.  .  .  I  also  loved  reading  in  those 
days,  but  I  never  used  to  trouble  myself  about  what  I 
read,  and  I  don't  understand  why  people  should.  But 
they — I  mean  my  wife  and  those  who  were  with  her — 
whenever  they  had  read  through  a  book,  immediately 
became  as  restless  as  if  they  had  hundreds  of  prickles 
beneath  their  skin.  Now,  I  look  upon  it  like  this. 
Here's  a  book.  Very  well!  An  interesting  book. 
So  much  the  better.  But  every  book  has  been  written 
by  a  man,  and  a  man  cannot  leap  higher  than  his  own 
head.  All  books  are  written  with  one  object :  they 
want  to  prove  that  good  is  good  and  bad  is  bad,  and 
it's  all  one  whether  you  have  read  a  hundred  of  them 
or  a  thousand.  My  wife  discussed  her  little  books 
by  the  dozen,  so  that  I  began  to  tell  her  straight  out 
that  I  should  have  had  a  better  time  of  it  if  I  had 
married  the  parson  instead  of  her.  It  was  only  the 
parson  who  saved  me  from  boredom,  and  but  for  him 

I  should  have  bolted  from  my  wife  there  and  then. 
As  soon  as  the  Pharisees  called  upon  her — off  I  went 
to  the  parson.     In  this  way  I  lived  through  a  year  and 
a  half.     From  sheer  boredom  I  helped  the  parson  in 
the  church  services.     At  one  time  I  read  the  epistles, 
at  another  I  stood  in  the  choir  and  sang : 

II  From  my  youth  up  many  passions  have  fought  against  me." 

I  went  through  a  good  deal  in  those  days,  and  I 
shall  be  justified  for  many  things  at  the  Last  Day  for 
this  endurance.  But  now  my  parson  was  joined  by  a 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  121 

young  kinswoman,  and  this  woman  came  to  him  first 
because  he  was  a  widower,  and  in  the  second  place 
because  his  swine  had  eaten  him,  i.e.,  had  not  eaten 
him  entirely,  but  spoilt  the  look  of  him  He  had,  you 
must  know,  fallen  down  drunk  in  the  yard  and  gone 
to  sleep,  and  the  swine  had  come  into  the  courtyard 
and  nibbled  away  at  his  ears,  cheeks,  and  neck,  tt 
is  notorious  that  swine  eat  all  sorts  of  garbage.  This 
diminution  of  his  person  threw  my  parson  into  a 
fever,  and  caused  him  to  summon  his  kinswoman  that 
she  might  cherish  him  and  I  might  cherish  her.  Well, 
she  and  I  set  about  the  business  very  zealously,  and 
with  great  success.  But  my  wife  found  out  how  the 
land  lay — found  out  I  say,  and  at  last  it  came  to  a 
quarrel.  What  was  I  to  do?  I  gave  her  as  good  as  I 
got.  Then  she  said  to  me  :  "  Leave  my  house !  "  Well, 
I  thought  the  matter  well  over,  and  I  quietly  went  away 
— right  away  from  the  town.  Thus  the  bonds  of  my 
marriage  were  unloosed.  If  my  consort  is  still  alive 
she  certainly  regards  me  as  happily  dead  to  her.  I 
have  never  felt  the  slightest  desire  to  see  her  again. 
I  also  think  that  it  is  well  for  her  to  forget  me.  May 
she  live  in  peace !  Greatly  did  she  bore  me  in  those 
days. 

So  now  behold  me  a  free  man  again,  living  in  the 
town  of  Penza!  I  came  to  loggerheads  with  the 
police  ;  no  place  could  be  found  for  me  here  or  there — 
no  place  anywhere  in  fact.  At  last  I  became  a  psalm- 
singet  in  the  church.  I  took  up  the  office  and  sang 


122  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

and  read.  In  the  church  I  had  again  a  "  public " 
before  me,  and  again  a  loathing  of  it  arose  within  me. 
I  was  a  miserable  labourer  in  a  dependent  position. 
It  was  horrible  to  me.  But  a  merchant's  wife  was  my 
salvation.  She  was  a  stout,  God-fearing  woman,  and 
had  a  very  dull  time  of  it.  And  she  goes  and  gets 
enamoured  of  me  by  way  of  spiritual  edification.  So 
I  got  into  the  habit  of  going  to  see  her,  and  she  fed 
me.  Her  husband  lived  at  home  and  was  a  little 
dotty,  so  she  had  to  manage  the  whole  plaguy  business. 
I  went  to  her  very  courteously,  and  I  said  to  her :  "  It  is 
hard  for  me  to  be  paying  visits  here,  Sekleteya 
Kirillovna,  precious  hard,"  I  said ;  "  why  don't  you  make 
me  your  assistant  ?  "  She  made  some  bones  about  it 
at  first,  and  said  I  was  much  mistaken,  but  at  last  she 
took  me  as  her  manager.  And  now  I  had  a  good  time 
of  it,  but  the  town  itself  was  a  filthy  hole.  There  was 
no  theatre,  no  decent  hotel,  no  interesting  people.  Of 
course  I  was  bored  to  death,  and  in  the  midst  of  my 
boredom  I  wrote  a  letter  to  my  uncle.  During  my 
five  years'  absence  from  Petersburg  I  had,  of  course, 
become  very  knowing.  So  I  wrote  now  requesting  for- 
giveness for  all  that  I  had  done,  promised  never  to  do 
anything  like  it  any  more,  and  asked,  among  other 
things,  whether  it  was  not  possible  for  me  to  live  at 
Petersburg.  My  uncle  wrote  it  was  possible,  but  I 
must  be  careful.  Then  I  broke  with  the  merchant's 
wife. 
You  must  know  that  she  was  stupid,  fat,  stodgy,  and 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  123 

ugly.  I  had  had  mistresses  of  great  repute,  elegant  and 
sensible  gossips  every  one  of  them.  Very  well !  Yet 
with  all  my  other  mistresses  I  had  parted  scurvily; 
either  I  had  driven  them  away  with  wrath  and  con- 
tumely, or  they  had  played  me  some  nasty  trick  or 
other.  But  this  Sekleteya  had  inspired  me  with 
respect  by  reason  of  her  very  simplicity. 

"  Farewell,"  I  said  to  her ;  "  farewell,  my  dearly- 
beloved  !  God  grant  thee  prosperity !  " 

"  And  does  it  not  pain  thee  to  part  with  me?  "  said 
she. 

"  What !  "  I  cried,  "  how  can  I  help  being  pained  at 
parting  with  one  so  beautiful  and  wise  ?  " 

"  I  would  never  have  parted  from  thee,"  said  she, 
"  but  I  suppose  it  must  be  so,  nevertheless  I  will  always 
remember  thee.  Well,  now,  thou  art  a  free  bird  again, 
and  canst  fly  away  whithersoever  thou  desirest,"  and 
she  burst  into  tears. 

"  Forgive  me,  Sekleteya,  I  beg,"  said  I. 

"  What  !  "  she  cried,  "  I  owe  thee  thanks,  not  for- 
giveness." 

"  Thanks?  "  I  asked,  "  how  and  for  what?  " 

"  I'll  tell  thee.  Thou  art  this  sort  of  man. 
Thou  wouldst  think  nothing  of  casting  me  adrift 
in  the  wide  world,  I  put  myself  wholly  into 
thy  hands,  and  thou  mightest  have  robbed  me  as  thou 
didst  like,  and  I  would  not  have  prevented  thee — and 
all  this  thou  knewest.  But  thou  hast  repaid  confidence 
with  confidence,  and  I  know  how  much  of  mine  thou 


i24  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

hast  consumed  in  these  days — about  four  thousand  in 
all.  Another  in  thy  place,"  she  said,  "  would  have 
gobbled  up  the  whole  pot  and  emptied  the  saucer  on 
the  hearth  as  well." 

That's  what  she  said.     Well,  she  was  a  kind-hearted 
old  thing,  that  I  will  say. 

I  gave  her  a  parting  kiss,  and  with  a  light  heart 
and  five  thousand  roubles  in  my  pocket — no  doubt  she 
had  taken  these  also  into  consideration — I  appeared  at 
St.  Petersburg.  I  lived  like  a  baron,  went  to  the 
theatre,  made  acquaintances,  sometimes  from  sheer 
ennui  played  on  the  boards,  but  I  played  much  more 
frequently  at  cards.  Cards  are  a  capital  occupation. 
You  sit  down  at  a  table,  and  in  the  course  of  a  single 
night  you  die  and  rise  again  ten  times  over.  It  is 
exciting  to  know  that  within  the  next  few  moments 
your  last  roubles  may  dribble  away,  and  you  yourself 
may  step  down  into  the  street  a  beggar,  with  nothing 
but  suicide  or  highway  robbery  before  you.  It  is  also 
good  to  know  that  your  neighbour  or  partner  has,  with 
reference  to  his  last  rouble,  exactly  the  same  ticklish 
and  cruelly  poignant  sensation  as  you  yourself  have 
had  not  so  very  long  before  him.  To  see  red  and  pale 
excited  faces,  tremulous  with  the  terror  of  being  beaten 
and  with  the  greed  of  gain,  to  look  at  them  and  win 
their  cards  away,  one  after  the  other — ah!  ho\v 
strangely  that  excites  the  nerves  and  the  blood! 
.  .  .  You  win  a  card — and  it  is  just  as  if  you  stole 
away  from  the  man's  heart  a  bit  of  warm  flesh  with  the 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  125 

s 

nerves  and  blood.  .  .  That's  being  happy  if  you 
like !  This  constant  risk  of  falling  is  the  finest  thing 
in  life,  and  the  finest  thought  in  life  was  well  ex- 
pressed by  the  poet : 

"  Fierce  contest  is  a  rapturous  bliss, 
E'en  on  the  marge  of  the  abyss." 

Yes,  there  is  rapture  in  it,  and,  in  general,  it  is 
only  possible  to  feel  happy  when  you  are  risking 
something.  The  more  risk — the  larger  and  fuller  the 
life.  Have  you  ever  happened  to  starve?  It  has 
been  my  luck  not  to  eat  anything  for  twice  twenty-four 
hours  at  a  stretch  .  .  .  And  look  you,  when  the 
belly  begins  to  prey  upon  itself,  when  you  feel  your 
vitals  drying  up  and  dying  with  hunger — 'then,  for  the 
sake  of  a  bit  of  bread,  you  are  ready  to  kill  a  man,  a 
child  ;  you  are  ready  for  anything,  and  this  capacity  for 
crime  has  its  own  peculiar  poetry,  it  is  a  very  precious 
sensation,  and,  having  once  experienced  it,  you  have 
a  great  respect  for  yourself. 

However,  let  us  continue  our  varied  story.  As  it  is, 
it  is  spinning  itself  out  as  long  as  a  funeral  procession, 
in  which  I  occupy  the  place  of  the  dear  departed. 
Ugh!  what  foolish  comparisons  do  crowd  into  my 
head.  Yet  it  is  true,  I  suppose,  though  it  is  none  the 
wiser,  after  all,  for  being  that  Apropos,  Mr.  Balzac 
has  a  very  true  and  timely  expression — "  It  is  as  stupid 
as  a  fact."  Stupid?  Well,  let  it  pass.  What  do  I 
care  about  the  difference  between  stupid  and  wise? 


126  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

Well,  as  I  was  saying,  I  lived  at  St.  Petersburg.  It 
was  a  good  sort  of  town,  but  it  would  be  as  good  again 
if  one  half  of  its  inhabitants  were)  drowned  in  that 
tiresome  sea  which  is  always  flop-flopping  around  it. 
I  lived  a  merry,  easy  life  at  St.  Petersburg  for  two  or 
three  years,  under  the  protection  of  a  lady  who  had 
taken  a  great  fancy  to  me ;  but  then,  in  order  to  oblige 
a  friend,  I  seriously  offended  the  police,  and  they  asked 
me  whither  I  would  like  to  go  out  of  St.  Petersburg. 
I  suggested  Tsarskoe-Selo.  "No,"  they  said,  "you 
must  go  further."  At  last  we  effected  a  com- 
promise, and  Tula  was  fixed  upon.  "  Very  well,  let  it 
be  Tula  then,"  said  they.  "  You  may  go  even  further," 
they  said,  "  if  you  like,  but  you  must  not  appear  here  till 
three  years  have  expired.  Your  documents  we  will 
keep  by  us  in  the  meantime  as  a  memento  of  you,  and 
permit  us  to  offer  you  in  exchange  a  transit  certificate 
to  Tula.  Try  within  four-and-twenty  hours  to  take 
your  flight  from  hence."  Well,  thought  I,  what  am  I  to 
do  now  ?  One  must  obey  one's  superiors,  how  can  one 
help  doing  so? 

Well,  there  I  was.  I  sold  all  my  property  to  my 
landlady  for  a  mere  song,  and  posted  off  to  my  pro- 
tectress. She  had  given  orders  that  I  was  not  to  be 
admitted,  the  minx !  I  then  went  on  to  two  or  three 
others  of  my  acquaintances — they  met  me  as  if  I  were 
a  leper.  1  spat  upon  them  all,  and  repaired  to  a  holy 
place  I  knew  of,  there  to  spend  the  last  hours  of  my 
life  at  Petersburg.  At  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  I 


A   ROLLING    STONE.  127 

issued  from  thence  without  a  farthing  in  my  pocket — 
I  had  played  at  cards  and  was  stony  broke!  So 
thoroughly  had  a  high  official  cleared  me  out  that  I 
was  even  lost  in  admiration  at  his  talent,  without  feeling 
the  least  humiliation  at  having  been  beaten.  What 
was  I  to  do  next?  I  went,  why  I  know  not,  to  the 
Moscow  Station,  entered  and  mingled  with  the  crowd. 
I  saw  the  train  to  Moscow  come  in.  I  got  into  a 
carriage  and  sat  down.  We  passed  two  or  three 
stations,  and  then  they  drove  me  out  in  triumph.  They 
wanted  to  report  me,  asked  who  I  was ;  but  when  I 
showed  them  my  testimonial  they  left  me  in  peace. 
"  Go  on  further,"  said  they,  and  I  went.  Ten  versts  I 
traversed,  I  grew  tired,  and  felt  that  I  must  have 
something  to  eat.  There  was  a  sentry-box,  belonging 
to  a  sentry  of  a  line  regiment.  I  went  up  to  him : 
"  Give  me  a  bit  of  bread,  dear  little  friend,"  I  said.  He 
looked  at  me.  He  gave  me  not  only  bread  but  a  large 
cup  of  milk.  I  passed  the  night  with  him,  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life  in  vagabond  fashion,  in  the  open  air, 
on  straw,  in  the  field  behind  the  sentry-box.  I  awoke 
next  day,  the  sun  was  shining,  the  air  like  champagne, 
green  things  all  round,  and  the  birds  singing.  I  took 
some  more  bread  from  the  sentry  and  went  on  further. 
You  should  understand  that  in  a  vagabond  life  there 
is  something  that  draws  you  on  and  on,  something  that 
quite  swallows  you  up.  It  is  pleasant  to  feel  yourself 
free  from  obligations,  free  from  the  various  little  fetters 
tying  down  your  existence  when  you  live  among 


128  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

men ;  free  from  all  those  bagatelles  obstructing 
your  life  to  such  an  extent  that  it  ceases  to  be 
a  satisfaction,  and  becomes  a  weary  burden — 
a  heavy  basket-like  burden  in  the  nature  of  an 
obligation  to  dress  becomingly,  to  speak  becomingly, 
and  do  everything  according  to  an  accepted  form  and 
not  as  you  would  have  it  On  meeting  an  acquaint- 
ance, for  instance,  you  must  use  the  accepted  formula 

and  say :  How  do  you  do  ?— instead  of :  Be  d d ! 

as  you  would  sometimes  like  to  say. 

In  general — if  I  may  speak  the  truth  freely — these 
foolishly-ceremonious  usages  are  such  as  to  turn  the 
mutual  relations  of  respectable  citizens  into  a  weari- 
some comedy.  Nay,  even  into  a  base  comedy,  for 
nobody  ever  calls  anybody  a  fool  or  a  villain  to  his 
face— or  if  it  be  done  sometimes  it  is  only  in  an  access 
of  that  sincerity  which  we  call  anger. 

Now  the  vagabond  position  is  clean  outside  all  these 
tinsel  trappings.  The  very  circumstance  that  you 
renounce  all  the  earlier  conveniences  of  life  without 
regret,  and  can  exist  without  them,  gives  you  a  pleasant 
sense  of  elevation  in  your  own  eyes.  You  take  up 
an  unreservedly  indulgent  attitude  towards  yourself 
— though  for  the  matter  of  that  I  for  one  have  never 
been  severe  towards  myself.  1  have  never  taken  myself 
to  task,  the  teeth  of  my  conscience  have  never  gnawed 
me,  nor  have  I  ever  been  scratched  by  the  claws  of 
my  reason.  You  must  know  that  very  early,  and  as 
if  insensibly,  I  appropriated  the  most  simple  and 


A    ROLLING   STONE.  129 

sensible  of  philosophies :  however  you  may  live  you 
must  die  all  the  same.  Why  then  come  to  logger- 
heads with  yourself — why  drag  yourself  by  the  tail 
to  the  left  when  your  nature  with  all  her  might  pricks 
you  on  to  the  right?  Pah!  I  cannot  endure  people 
who  are  always  rending  themselves  in  twain.  Why  do 
they  strive  and  strive?  Supposing  I  were  to  talk  to 
some  of  these  monstrosities,  this  is  what  I  should  ask 
them :  "  Why  do  you  go  on  like  this  ?  Why  do  you 
make  such  a  fuss ?  "  "I  am  striving  after  self-perfec- 
tion," he  would  say.  "  But  what  for  ? — what  on  earth 
for  ?  "  "  Because  human  perfection  is  the  sense  of  life." 
"  Well,  I  don't  understand  that  at  all.  Now  if  you  talk 
about  the  perfection  of  a  tree,  the  sense  of  your  words 
would  be  quite  clear  to  me.  Its  perfection  is  to  be 
measured  by  its  utility ;  you  may  use  it  for  making 
cart  shafts  or  coffins,  or  anything  else  useful  to  man. 
Very  well!  But  your  striving  after  perfection  is 
entirely  your  own  affair.  But  tell  me,  why  do  you 
come  to  me  and  try  to  convert  me  to  your  faith  ?  " 
"  Because,"  he  would  say,  "  you  are  a  beast,  and  don't 
seek  out  the  sense  of  life."  "  But  I  have  found  it  if 
I  am  a  brute,  and  the  consciousness  of  my  brutality 
does  not  overwhelm  me."  "  You  lie,"  he  would  say ; 
"  if  you  are  conscious  of  it  you  ought  to  try  to  im- 
prove." "Improve?  How?  Here  I  am,  you  see, 
living  my  own  life  in  the  world ;  my  mind  and  my 
feelings  are  at  one  with  each  other,  and  word  and 
deed  are  in  perfect  harmony."  "  That,"  he  would  say, 

I 


130  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"  is  vileness  and  cynicism."  And  so  the  whole  lot  of 
them  would  argue  of  course.  I  feel  that  they  are 
liars  and  fools — I  feel  that,  I  say,  and  I  cannot  but 
despise  them.  For  indeed — I  know  what  people  are 
— if  everything  which  is  mean,  dirty,  and  evil  to-day, 
were  to  be  declared  by  you  to-morrow  upright,  pure, 
and  good — all  these  snouts,  without  any  effort  of  their 
own,  would  to-morrow  be  upright,  pure,  and  good. 
One  thing  only  would  be  necessary — the  cowardice 
to  annihilate  self  within  themselves.  That's  how  it  is. 
That's  putting  it  strong,  you'll  say.  Bosh!  It  is 
so.  Let  it  be  strongly  put,  it's  none  the  less  right 
for  all  that  Look  now !  I'll  put  it  like  this  :  Serve 
God  or  the  Devil,  but  don't  serve  God  and  the  Devil. 
A  good  rascal  is  always  better  than  a  shoddy  honest 
man.  There's  black  and  there's  white,  but  mix  them 
and  you  only  get  a  dirty  smudge.  In  all  my  life  I 
have  only  met  with  shoddy  honest  folks — the  sort 
you  know  whose  honesty  is  piecemeal,  as  it  were,  just 
as  if  they  had  picked  it  up  beneath  windows  as  beggars 
gather  crumbs.  This  sort  of  honesty  is  parti-coloured, 
badly  stuck  together,  as  if  with  pegs  ;  it  is  the  bookish 
honesty,  which  is  leamt  by  repetition,  and  serves  men 
in  much  the  same  way  as  their  best  trousers,  which 
are  trotted  out  on  state  occasions.  And,  in  general, 
the  best  part  of  good  people  is  made  up  for  Sunday 
use  ;  they  keep  it  not  in  them  but  by  them,  for  show, 
to  take  a  rise  out  of  each  other  ...  I  have  met 
with  people  naturally  good,  but  they  are  rarely  to  be 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  131 

met  with,  and  only  among  simple  folks  outside  the 
walls  of  towns.  You  feel  at  once  that  these  really 
are  good.  And  you  see  that  they  are  born  good 
Yes. 

But  be  that  as  it  may.  Deuce  take  the  whole  lot 
of  them,  good  or  bad.  What's  Hecuba  to  me,  or  I  to 
Hecuba! 

I  am  well  aware  that  I  am  relating  to  you  the  facts  of 
my  life  briefly  and  superficially,  and  that  it  will  be 
difficult  for  you  to  understand  the  why  and  the  where- 
fore, but  that's  my  affair.     It's  not  the  facts  but  the 
inclinations  that  are  of  importance.     Facts  are  rot  and 
rubbish.     I  can  make  all  sorts  of  facts  if  I  like.     For 
instance,  I  can  take  this  knife  and  stick  it  in  your 
throat.     That  would  be  a  fact  of  the  first  order.     Or 
if  I  were  to  stick  myself  with  it  that  also  would  be  a 
fact,  and  in  general  you  may  make  all  sorts  of  facts 
according  to  inclination.     Inclinations — there  you  have 
the  whole  thing.     Inclinations  produce  facts,  and  they 
create  ideas — and  ideals.    And  you  know  what  ideals 
are — eh?      Ideals  are  simply  crutches,  expressly  in- 
vented for  the  period  when  man  has  become  a  wretched 
brute,  obliged  to  walk  on  his  hind  paws  only.     On 
raising  his  head  from  the  grey  earth  he  sees  above 
him  the  blue  sky,  and  is  dazzled  by  the  splendour  of 
its  brightness.     Then,  in  his  stupidity,  he  says  to  him- 
self :    I  will  reach   it.     And  thenceforth  he  hobbles 
about  the   earth  on  these  crutches,   holding  himself 
upright  on  his  hind  paws  with  their  assistance  to  this 
very  day. 


132  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

Pray  don't  imagine  that  I  also  am  climbing  up  to 
Heaven — I  have  never  experienced  any  such  desire — 
I  only  say  it  because  it  sounds  well. 

But  I  have  let  my  story  get  knotted  and  tangled 
again.  However,  it  doesn't  matter.  It  is  only  in 
romances  that  the  skein  of  events  revolves  regularly ; 
but  our  life  is  an  irregular,  clueless  jumble.  Why  do 
they  pay  money  for  romances  while  I  grow  old  in 
vain  ?  The  Devil  only  knows. 

Well,  let's  get  on  ...  This  wandering  life 
pleased  me — pleased  me  all  the  more  because  I  soon 
discovered  a  means  of  subsistence.  Once,  as  I  was 
on  the  trot,  I  perceived  coming  towards  me — a  Manor 
House  stood  forth  picturesquely  in  the  distance — three 
highly  genteel  figures,  a  man  and  two  ladies.  The 
man  already  had  some  grey  in  his  beard,  and  looked 
very  genteel  about  the  eyes ;  the  faces  of  the  ladies 
were  somewhat  pinched,  but  they  also  were  highly 
genteel.  I  put  on  the  mug  of  a  martyr,  drew  up  level 
with  them,  and  begged  for  a  night's  lodging  at  the 
Manor  House.  They  looked  at  one  another,  and 
deliberated  a  long  time  among  themselves  as  if  it  were 
a  matter  of  great  importance.  I  bowed  politely, 
thanked  them,  and  went  on  without  making  too  much 
haste.  But  they  turned  back  and  came  after  me.  We 
entered  into  conversation.  Who  was  I,  whence  did  I 
come,  what  was  I  about?  They  were  of  a  human 
temperament — liberal  views,  and  their  very  questions 
suggested  such  answers  to  me  that  by  the  time  we 


A   ROLLING  STONE.  133 

had  reached  the  Manor  House  I  had  lied  to  them — 
the  Devil  only  knows  how  much!  I  had  been  a 
student,  I  had  taught  the  people,  my  soul  was  held 
captive  to  all  manner  of  ideas,  etc.,  etc.  And  all  this 
simply  because  they  themselves  would  have  it  so.  All 
I  did  was  not  to  stand  in  the  way  of  their  taking  me 
for  what  they  wanted  to  take  me  for.  When  I  began 
to  reflect  how  hard  the  part  would  be  that  they  wanted 
me  to  play,  I  was  not  a  little  out  of  conceit  with  myself, 
I  can  tell  you.  But  after  dinner  I  quite  understood 
that  it  was  for  my  own  interest  to  play  this  part,  for 
they  ate  with  a  truly  divine  taste.  They  ate  with 
feeling,  ate  like  civilised  people.  After  the  meal  they 
conducted  me  to  a  little  apartment,  the  man  provided 
me  with  trousers  and  other  requisites — and,  speaking 
generally,  they  treated  me  humanely.  Well,  and  I,  in 
return,  loosed  the  reins  of  my  imagination  for  their 
behoof. 

Queen  of  Heaven,  how  I  lied!  Talk  of  Khlesta- 
kov  !*  Khlestakov  was  an  idiot !  I  lied  without  ever 
losing  the  consciousness  that  I  was  lying,  although 
it  was  my  delight  to  lie  my  utmost.  I  lied  to  such 
an  extent  that  even  the  Black  Sea  would  have  turned 
red  if  it  could  have  heard  my  lying.  These  good 
people  listened  to  me  with  delight — listened  to  me  and 
fed  me,  and  looked  after  me  as  if  I  had  been  a  sick 
child  of  their  own  family.  And  I  in  return  made  up 

*  The  hero  of  Gogol's  famous  comedy,  "  Revizor." 


134  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

all  sorts  of  things  for  them.  Now  it  was  that  I 
profited  by  all  the  good  little  books  I  had  ever  read, 
and  by  the  learned  disputations  of  my  wife's  Scribes 
and  Pharisees. 

Believe  me,  to  lie  with  gumption  is  a  high  delight. 
If  you  lie  and  see  that  folks  believe  you,  you  feel  your- 
self on  a  higher  level,  and  to  feel  yourself  above  your 
fellows  is  a  rare  satisfaction.  To  command  their 
attention  and  think  much  of  yourself  in  consequence 
is  foolishness ;  but  to  fool  a  man  is  always  pleasant. 
And  besides,  it  is  pleasant  to  the  man  himself  to  listen 
to  lies — good  lies — lies  which  do  not  go  against  the 
grain.  And  it  is  possible  that  every  lie,  good  or  the 
reverse,  is  a  good  lie.  There  is  scarcely  anything 
in  the  world  more  worthy  of  attention  than  the  various 
popular  fables :  notions,  dreams,  and  such  like.  Let 
us  take  love  for  instance.  I  have  always  loved  in 
women  just  that  which  they  have  never  possessed,  and 
with  which  I  myself  have  generally  requited  them.  And 
this,  too,  is  the  best  thing  in  them.  For  instance,  you 
come  across  a  fresh  little  wench  and  immediately  you 
think  to  yourself :  such  a  one  must  needs  embrace 
you  this  way,  or  kiss  you  that  way.  If  in  tears,  she 
must  look  thus,  and  if  she  laughs — thus.  And  then 
you  persuade  yourself  that  she  has  all  these  qualities, 
and  must  certainly  be  exactly  as  you  imagine  her  to 
be.  And,  of  course,  when  you  make  her  acquaintance, 
and  come  to  know  her  as  she  really  is — you  find  your- 
self sitting  triumphantly  in  a  puddle !  But  that  is  of 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  135 

no  importance.  You  cannot  possibly  make  an  enemy 
of  fire  simply  because  it  burns  you  sometimes,  you  must 
remember  that  it  always  warms  you.  Isn't  that  so? 
Very  well.  For  the  same  reason  you  must  not  call 
a  lie  harmful ;  in  every  case  put  up  with  it  and  prefer  it 
to  truth.  .  .  Besides,  it  is  quite  uncertain  what  this 
thing  called  Truth  is  really  like.  Nobody  has  ever 
seen  her  passport,  and  possibly  if  she  were  called  upon 
to  produce  her  documents  the  deuce  only  knows  how 
it  would  turn  out. 

But  here  I  am  like  Socrates,  philosophising  instead 
of  attending  to  my  business. 

Well,  I  lied  to  these  good  people  till  I  had  exhausted 
my  imagination,  and  as  soon  as  I  realised  the  danger 
of  being  a  bore  to  them — I  went  on  further,  after 
residing  with  them  for  three  weeks.  I  departed  well 
provisioned  for  the  journey,  and  I  directed  my  foot- 
steps towards  the  nearest  police-station  in  order  that  I 
might  go  from  thence  to  Moscow.  But  from  Moscow 
to  Tula  I  arrived  in  vain,  in  consequence  of  the 
carelessness  of  my  conductors. 

Behold  me,  then,  face  to  face  with  the  Police-master 
at  Tula.  He  looked  at  me  and  inquired : 

"  What  profession  do  you  mean  to  follow  here  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  said. 

"And  why  did  they  send  you  away  from 
Petersburg?"  he  said 

"  That  also  I  don't  know,"  said  I. 

"  Obviously  for  some  debauch  not  foreseen  by  the 


136  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

criminal  code — eh  ? "  and  he  cross-examined  me 
searchingly. 

But  I  remained  inscrutable. 

"  You  are  a  very  inconvenient  sort  of  person,"  he 
observed. 

"  Everyone,  I  suppose,  has  his  own  speciality,  my 
good  sir,"  I  rejoined. 

He  thought  the  matter  over,  and  then  he  made  me 
a  proposition.  "  As  you  have  chosen  your  own  place 
of  residence,  perhaps,  if  we  do  not  please  you,  you 
will  go  further  on.  There  are  many  other  towns  for 
choice — Orel,  Kursk,  Smolensk  for  example.  After  all 
it  is  all  the  same  to  you  where  you  live.  Wouldn't 
it  be  agreeable  to  you  if  we  passed  you  on  ?  It  would 
be  quite  a  relief  to  us  not  to  have  the  bother  of  look- 
ing after  your  health.  We  have  such  a  mass  of 
business  here,  and  you — pardon  my  candour — seem  to 
be  a  man  fully  capable  of  increasing  the  cares  of  the 
police  ;  nay,  you  even  seem  to  me  expressly  made  for 
the  purpose.  Well  now,"  says  he,  "  would  you  like  me 
to  give  you  a  tresknetsa*  to  assist  you  on  your  way?  " 

"  You  seem  to  appraise  your  duties  somewhat 
cheaply,"  said  I,  "  I  think  it  would  be  better  if  you  let 
me  remain  here  under  the  protection  of  the  laws  of 
Tula." 

But  he  obstinately  refused  to  take  me  even  as  a  gift. 
He  was  an  odd  sort  of  chap !  Well,  I  got  fifteen  roubles 

*  A  small  Russian  coin. 


A   ROLLING    STONE.  137 

out  of  him,  and  went  on  to  the  town  of  Smolensk.  You 
see!  The  most  awkward  position  contains  within  it 
the  possibility  of  something  better.  I  affirm  this  on 
the  basis  of  solid  experience  and  on  the  strength  of 
my  deep  faith  in  the  dexterity  of  the  human  mind. 
Mind — that's  the  power !  You  are  still  a  young  man, 
and  what  I  say  to  you  is  this :  believe  in  mind  and  you 
shall  never  fall !  Know  that  every  man  holds  within 
him  a  fool  and  a  rogue  ;  the  fool  is  his  senses,  the  rogue 
is  his  mind.  His  senses  are  the  fool  because  they  are 
upright,  just,  and  cannot  dissemble,  and  how  is  it 
possible  to  live  without  dissimulation  ?  It  is  indispen- 
sable to  dissemble  ;  it  is  necessary  to  do  so  even  from 
compassion,  and  most  of  all  when  they — your  senses 
of  course — pity  others. 

So  I  walked  into  Smolensk,  feeling  that  the  ground 
was  firm  beneath  me,  and  that  on  the  one  hand 
I  could  always  count  upon  the  support  of  humane 
people,  and  on  the  other  hand  I  was  always  sure  of 
the  support  of  the  Police.  I  was  necessary  to  the  first 
for  the  display  of  their  feelings,  and  to  the  second  I 
was  unnecessary — therefore  they  and  others  were 
bound  to  pay  me  out  of  their  superfluities. 

That's  how  it  was  then ! 

So  I  went  along  and  fell  quite  in  love  with  myself. 
My  prospects  were  excellent.  I  fell  in  with  a  little 
muzhik.  He  looked  up  and  asked : 

"You  will  be  one  of  the  Enquiry- Agents,  I 
suppose  ?  " 


138  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"  Enquiry-Agents,"  I  thought,  "  what  does  he 
mean  ?  " — but  I  answered  : 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  am !  " 

"  Did  you  come  along  the  Trepovka  Road  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Yes,  along  the  Trepovka,"  I  answered 

"  And  will  you  hire  the  folks  soon  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Very  soon,"  said  I. 

"  Listen,  will  they  take  deposits?  " 

"  They  will." 

"  Have  you  heard  how  much  per  head  ?  " 

"Yes,  about  two  griveniki*  per  head." 

"  Laws !  "  said  the  little  muzhik. 

I  put  two  and  two  together,  guessed  why  he  was 
ploughing  there,  and  asked  him  whence  he  came  ?  how 
many  soulst  there  were  in  his  village?  how  many 
could  go  out  to  work  ?  how  many  went  on  foot  ?  how 
many  could  go  on  horseback? 

He  understood  me. 

"  You  are  going  to  take  labourers  out  of  our  village, 
eh?"  said  he. 

"  It  is  all  the  same  to  me  where  I  take  them  from," 
said  I. 

I  took  from  them  a  bank-note  and  promised  to 
give  to  their  village  the  preference  over  other  villages. 
I  took  two  griveniki  per  head  from  the  labourers 
who  had  no  horses,  and  thirty  kopecks  from  the 

*  A  grivenik  =  10  kopecks  =  about  2$<1.     f  Peasants. 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  139 

labourers  who  had,  on  the  pretext  of  giving  them 
a  written  assurance  of  employment  for  a  period  fixed 
by  myself.  They  handed  me  over  about  a  hundred 
roubles*  or  so.  And  I  wrote  out  little  receipts  for 
them,  said  a  few  kind  words  to  them,  and  so  bade 
them  adieu. 

I  appeared  at  Smolensk,  and  as  it  was  already 
growing  cold,  I  resolved  to  pass  the  winter  there.  I 
quickly  found  some  good  people  and  stayed  with  them. 
The  winter  didn't  pass  half  badly,  but  soon  spring 
came  and,  would  you  believe  it,  it  drew  me  out  of  the 
town.  I  wanted  to  loaf  about — and  who  was  there  to 
prevent  me?  Off  I  went  and  strolled  about  for  a 
whole  summer,  and  in  the  winter  I  plumped  down  into 
the  city  of  Elizavetgrad.  There  I  plumped  down,  I 
say,  and  I  could  not  wheedle  myself  in  anywhere. 
I  hunted  high  and  low,  and  at  last  I  found  my  way. 
I  got  the  post  of  reporter  of  the  local  gazette — a 
petty  affair,  but  it  found  me  my  grub  and  left  me  a 
pretty  free  hand.  After  that  I  made  the  acquaintance 
of  some  Junkers — there  is  a  school  for  the  Junkers  of 
the  cavalry  regiment  in  the  town — and  established 
card-parties.  We  had  some  capital  card  play,  and  in 
the  course  of  the  winter  I  managed  to  grab  a  thousand 
roubles.  And  then  spring  again  appeared.  She  found 
me  with  money  and  the  appearance  of  a  gentleman. 

Whither  should  I  go?    Well,  I  went  to  the  town  of 

*  £25. 


140  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

Slavyansk  by  water.  There  I  played  successfully 
till  August,  and  then  I  was  obliged  to  quit  the  town. 
I  passed  the  winter  at  Zhitomir  with  a  butterfly — she 
was  wretched  trash,  but  a  woman  of  exquisite  beauty. 
In  this  manner  I  passed  the  years  of  my  banishment 
from  Petersburg  and  then  returned  thither.  The 
devil  knows  why,  but  the  place  has  always  had  an 
attraction  for  me.  I  arrived  there  a  gentleman  with 
means.  I  sought  out  my  acquaintances,  and  what  do 
you  think  I  discovered  ?  My  adventures  with  the  liberal 
people  of  the  Moscow  Government  were  notorious. 
Everything  was  known — how  I  had  lived  three 
weeks  with  the  Ivanovs  at  the  Manor  House,  feeding 
their  hungry  souls  with  the  fruits  of  my  fancy ;  how  I 
behaved  to  the  Petrovs,  and  how  I  had  impoverished 
Madame  Vanteva.  Well,  and  what  of  it?  Necessity 
knows  no  law,  and  if  seven  doors  are  closed  against 
you,  ten  more  will  open  to  you.  But  it  was  no  go. 
I  tried  very  hard  to  make  for  myself  a  stable  position 
in  society,  and  I  could  not  do  it.  Was  it  because  I 
had  lost  during  these  three  years  something  of  my 
capacity  of  consorting  with  men,  or  was  it  because 
people  had  grown  more  artful  during  that  period  ?  And 
now  when  the  shoe  began  to  pinch  the  devil  put  it  into 
my  head  to  offer  my  services  to  the  Detective  Force.  I 
offered  myself  in  the  capacity  of  an  agent  who  keeps 
his  eye  upon  the  play-houses.  They  accepted  me. 
The  terms  were  good.  With  this  secret  profession  I 
combined  a  public  one — that  of  reporter  to  a  small 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  141 

gazette.  I  provided  them  with  excellent  newsletters, 
and  occasionally  composed  the  feuilletons  for  them. 
And  then,  too,  I  played.  In  fact  so  carried  away  was 
I  by  this  card  playing  that  I  forgot  to  report  it  to  the 
authorities.  I  completely  forgot,  you  know,  that  it  was 
my  duty  to  do  so.  But  when  I  lost  I  remembered : 
I  must  report  this,  I  said  to  myself.  But  no,  I  thought, 
first  let  me  win  back  my  losings,  and  then  I  will  make 
my  report.  In  this  way  I  put  off  the  performance  of  my 
duty  for  a  very  long  time,  till  at  last  I  was  actually 
grabbed  by  the  police  on  the  very  scene  of  the  offence 
behind  a  card-table.  They  abused  me  publicly  as 
one  of  their  own  agents.  Next  day  I  was  brought  up 
in  the  usual  way,  a  very  savage  indictment  was  laid 
against  me ;  they  told  me  I  had  absolutely  no 
conscience  whatever ;  and  banished  me  from  the 
capital — banished  me  a  second  time.  And  this  time 
without  the  right  of  re-entry  for  the  space  of  ten  years. 
For  six  years  I  travelled  about  without  complaining 
to  God  of  my  fate — what  did  I  care!  I  will  relate 
nothing  about  this  period,  for  it  was  too  monotonous 
— and  manifold.  Life  in  general  is  a  gay  bird.  Some- 
times, indeed,  it  hasn't  a  grain  to  peck  at ;  but  it  doesn't 
do  to  be  too  exacting  ;  even  people  sitting  on  thrones, 
remember,  haven't  always  things  exactly  their  own  way. 
In  such  a  life  as  mine  there  are  no  duties — that's  the 
first  great  advantage — and  there  are  no  laws  except 
the  law  of  nature — and  that's  the  second.  We  dis- 
posers of  our  lives  may  have  our  disquietudes — but 


142  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

then  you'll  find  fleas  even  in  the  best  inns.  On  the  other 
hand,  you  can  go  where  you  like,  to  the  right,  to  the 
left,  forwards,  backwards,  everywhere  your  fancy  draws 
you ;  and  if  your  fancy  doesn't  draw  you,  you  can  live 
on  a  peasant's  loaf — he  is  good,  and  will  always  give 
— you  can  live  on  the  peasant's  loaf,  I  say,  and  lie 
down  till  the  impulse  seizes  you  to  go  on  further. 

Where  have  I  been?  I  have  been  in  the  Tolstoi 
Colonies,  and  I  have  fed  in  the  kitchens  of  the  Moscow 
merchants.  I  have  lived  in  the  great  monastery  at 
Kiev  and  at  New  Athos.  I  have  been  at  Czen- 
stochowa,  the  holiest  shrine  in  Poland  ;  at  Muroma,  the 
favourite  place  of  pilgrimage  in  Russia.  Sometimes 
it  seems  to  me  as  if  I  have  traversed  every  little  foot- 
path in  the  Russian  Empire  twice  over.  And  as  soon 
as  ever  I  have  the  opportunity  of  repairing  my 
exterior  I  shall  cross  the  frontier.  I  shall  make  for 
Roumania,  and  there  every  road  lies  open  before  you. 
For  Russia  now  begins  to  bore  me,  and  there  is  nothing 
to  be  done  in  her  that  I  have  left  undone. 

And,  indeed,  during  these  six  years,  it  seems  to 
me  that  I  have  accomplished  a  good  deal.  What  a 
number  of  wondrous  things  I  have  said,  and  what 
wonders  I  have  related !  You  know  the  sort  of  thing. 
You  come  to  a  village,  you  beg  for  a  night's  lodging, 
and  when  they  have  fed  you — you  give  free  reins 
to  your  fancy.  It  is  even  possible  that  I  may  have 
founded  some  new  Sects,  for  I  have  spoken  much, 
very  much,  concerning  the  Scriptures.  And  the 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  143 

muzhik  has  a  fine  nose  for  the  Scriptures,  and  a  couple 
of  texts  suffices  him  for  the  construction  of  an  entirely 
new  confession  of  faith  which — but  you  know  what  I 
mean.  And  how  many  laws  have  I  not  composed 
about  the  division  and  repartition  of  land!  Yes,  I 
have  infused  a  great  deal  of  fancy  into  life. 

Well,  that's  how  I  live.  I  live  and  believe:  wish 
for  a  dwelling-place  and  it  is  yours.  For  I  have 
common-sense  and  the  women  prize  me.  For  instance, 
I  come  to  the  town  of  Nikolaiev,  and  I  g^o  to  the  suburbs 
where  dwells  the  daughter  of  a  soldier  of  Nikolaiev. 
The  woman  is  a  widow,  handsome,  and  well  to  do. 
I  come  in  and  say :  "  Well,  Kapochka,  here  I  am ; 
warm  a  bath  for  me !  Wash  me  and  clothe  me,  and  I 
will  abide  with  thee  even  from  moon  to  moon !  "  She 
immediately  does  everything  for  me,  and  if  she  was 
entertaining  a  lover  besides  me,  she  drives  him  away. 
And  I  live  with  her,  a  month  or  more,  as  long  as  I 
like.  For  three  years  I  lived  with  her,  during  the 
winter  for  two  months,  last  year  I  lived  with  her  even 
three  months ;  I  might  live  with  her  the  whole  winter 
through  if  she  were  not  so  silly  and  did  not  bore  me. 
Except  her  market  garden,  which  brings  her  in  two 
thousand  roubles  a  year,  the  woman  certainly  wants 
nothing. 

And  then  I  go  to  the  Kuban,  to  the  Labinskaya 
station.  There  lives  the  cossack,  Peter  Cherny,  and 
he  accounts  me  a  holy  man — many  consider  me  a 
righteous  man.  Many  simple  believing  folks  say  to 


M4  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

me  :  "  Little  father,  take  this  money  and  place  a  candle 
for  me  before  the  Just  One  when  you  are  there  .  .  ." 
I  take  it.  I  respect  believing  folks,  and  do  not  want 
to  offend  them  with  the  horrible  truth.  Not  for  the 
world  would  I  let  them  know  that  I  expend  their 
mite,  not  for  a  candle  for  their  patron,  but  in  tobacco 
for  my  pipe. 

There  is  also  much  charm  in  the  consciousness  of 
your  aloofness  from  people,  in  the  clear  comprehension 
of  the  height  and  stability  of  that  wall  of  offences 
committed  against  them  which  I  myself  have  freely 
erected.  And  there  is  much,  both  of  sweet  and  bitter, 
in  the  constant  risk  of  being  unmasked.  Life  is  a 
game.  I  stake  on  my  cards  everything,  i.e.,  nothing, 
and  I  always  win,  without  the  risk  of  losing  anything 
else  except  my  own  ribs.  But  I  am  certain  that  if 
people,  anywhere,  were  to  set  about  beating  me,  they 
would  not  be  content  with  maiming  me  but  would  kill 
me  outright.  It  is  impossible  to  feel  offended  at  this, 
and  it  would  be  foolish  to  fear  it 

And  so,  young  man,  I  have  told  you  my  story. 
I've  even  spun  it  out  a  bit,  as  my  story  has  its  own 
philosophy,  and  you  know  that  I  take  a  pleasure  in 
telling  it.  It  appears  to  me  that  I  have  told  it  pretty 
well.  I  will  go  further,  and  say,  very  accurately.  I 
have  made  up  a  good  deal  of  it,  no  doubt,  but  if  I 
have  lied  I  call  Heaven  to  witness  that  I  have  lied 
according  to  the  facts.  Look  not  upon  them,  but  at 
my  talent  for  exposition — that,  I  assure  you,  is  faithful 


A    ROLLING    STONE.  145 

to  the  original — my  own  soul.  I  have  set  before  you 
a  diah  hot  from  my  fancy  served  up  with  the  sauce 
of  the  purest  truth. 

But  why  have  I  told  you  all  this?  I  have  told  it 
you  because,  my  dear  fellow,  I  feel  that  you  believe 
in  me — a  little.  It  is  kind  of  you.  Be  it  so ! — but — 
believe  no  man !  For  whenever  he  tells  you  anything 
about  himself  he  is  sure  to  be  lying.  If  he  be  un- 
fortunate he  lies  in  order  to  excite  greater  sympathy ; 
if  he  be  prosperous  he  lies  in  order  to  make  you  envy 
him  the  more ;  and  in  every  case,  whether  he  be 
fortunate  or  unfortunate,  he  lies-  in  order  to  attract 
greater  attention. 


V.— THE   GREEN    KITTEN.* 

THE  round  window  of  my  chamber  looked  out  upon 
the  prison-yard.  It  was  very  high  from  the  ground, 
but  by  placing  the  table  against  the  wall  and  mounting 
upon  it,  I  could  see  everything  that  was  goinf  on  in 
the  courtyard.  Beneath  the  window,  under  the  slope 
of  the  roof,  the  doves  had  built  themselves  a  nest, 
and  when  I  set  about  looking  out  of  my  window  down 
into  the  court  below,  they  began  cooing  above  my 
head. 

I  had  lots  of  time  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  prison-yard  from  my  coign  of 
vantage,  and  I  knew  already  that  the  merriest  member 
of  that  grim  and  grey  population  went  by  the  name  of 
Zazubrina. 

He  was  a  square-set,  stout  little  fellow,  with  a  ruddy 
face  and  a  high  forehead,  from  beneath  which  his 
large  bright,  lively  eyes  sparkled  incessantly. 

His  cap  he  wore  at  the  back  of  his  head,  his  ears 

*  The  original  title  of  this  tale  was  ' '  Zaiubrina. "     Written  in  1897. 


THE  GREEN  KITTEN.  147 

stuck  out  on  both  sides  of  his  shaven  head  as  if  in 
joke ;  he  never  fastened  the  strings  of  his  shirt-collar, 
he  never  buttoned  his  vest,  and  every  movement  of 
his  muscles  gave  you  to  understand  that  he  was  a 
merry  soul  and  a  pronounced  enemy  of  anger  and 
sadness. 

Always  laughing,  alert  and  noisy,  he  was  the  idol 
of  the  yard ;  he  was  always  surrounded  by  a  group  of 
grey  comrades,  and  he  would  always  be  laughing  and 
regaling  them  with  all  sorts  of  curious  pranks, 
brightening  up  their  dull  and  sorrowful  life  with  his 
hearty,  genuine  gaiety  ... 

On  one  occasion  he  appeared  at  the  door  of  the 
prison-quarters  ready  to  go  for  a  walk  with  three 
rats  whom  he  had  dexterously  harnessed  as  if  they 
were  horses.  Sometimes  his  inventiveness  took  a 
cruel  form.  Thus,  for  instance,  he  once,  somehow, 
glued  to  the  wall  the  long  hair  of  one  of  the  prisoners, 
a  mere  lad,  who  was  sitting  on  the  floor  asleep  against 
the  wall,  and,  when  his  hair  had  dried,  suddenly 
awoke  him.  The  lad  quickly  leaped  to  his  feet, 
and  clapping  his  slim  lean  hands  to  the  back  of  his 
head,  fell  weeping  to  the  ground.  The  prisoners 
laughed,  and  Zazubrina  was  satisfied.  Afterwards — 
I  saw  it  through  the  window — he  fell  a  comforting  the 
lad,  who  had  left  a  no  inconsiderable  tuft  of  hair  on 
the  wall. 

Besides  Zazubrina,  there  was  yet  another  favourite 
in  the  prison — a  plump,  reddish  kitten,  a  tiny,  playful 


148  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

little  animal,  pampered  by  everyone.  Whenever  they 
went  out  for  a  walk,  the  prisoners  used  to  hunt  him  up 
and  take  him  with  them  a  good  part  of  the  way. 
passing  him  on  from  hand  to  hand.  They  would  run 
after  him,  too,  in  the  yard,  and  let  him  cling  on  to  their 
hands  and  feet  with  his  claws,  delighting  in  the 
sportive  tricks  of  their  pet. 

Whenever  the  kitten  appeared  on  the  scene,  he 
diverted  the  general  attention  from  Zazubrina,  and  the 
latter  was  by  no  means  pleased  with  this  preference. 
Zazubrina  was  at  heart  an  artist,  and  as  an  artist  had 
an  inordinately  good  opinion  of  his  own  talents 
When  his  public  was  drawn  away  from  him  by  the 
kitten,  he  remained  alone  and  sat  him  down  in  some 
hole  or  corner  in  the  courtyard,  and  from  thence 
would  watch  the  comrades  who  had  forgotten  him 
just  then.  And  I,  from  my  window,  would  observe 
him,  and  felt  everything  with  which  his  soul  was  full 
at  such  moments.  It  appeared  to  me  that  Zazubrina 
must  infallibly  kill  the  kitten  at  the  first  opportunity, 
and  I  was  sorry  for  the  merry  prisoner  who  was  thus 
always  longing  to  be  the  centre  of  general  attention 
Of  all  the  tendencies  of  man,  this  is  the  most  injurious, 
for  nothing  kills  the  soul  so  quickly  as  this  longing 
to  please  people. 

When  you  have  to  sit  in  a  prison — even  the  life  of 
the  fungi  on  its  walls  seems  interesting.  You  will 
understand  therefore  the  interest  with  which  I  observed 
from  my  window  the  little  tragedy  going  on  below 


THE  GREEN  KITTEN.  149 

there,  this  jealousy  of  a  kitten  on  the  part  of  a  man — 
you  will  understand,  too,  the  patience  with  which  I 
awaited  the  denouement.  The  denouement  was,  in- 
deed, approaching.  It  happened  in  this  wise. 

On  a  bright,  sunny  day,  when  the  prisoners  were 
pouring  out  of  doors  into  the  courtyard,  Zazubrina 
observed  in  a  corner  of  the  yard  a  pail  of  green  paint, 
left  behind  by  the  painters  who  were  painting  the 
roof  of  the  prison.  He  approached  it,  pondered  over 
it,  and,  dipping  a  finger  into  the  paint,  adorned  him- 
self with  a  pair  of  green  whiskers.  These  green 
whiskers  on  his  red  face  drew  forth  a  burst  of  laughter. 
A  certain  hobbledehoy  present,  wishing  to  appropriate 
Zazubrina's  idea,  began  forthwith  to  paint  his  upper 
lip ;  but  Zazubrina  spoiled  his  fun  for  him  by  dipping 
his  hand  in  the  pail  and  adroitly  besprinkling  his 
whole  physiognomy.  The  hobbledehoy  spluttered 
and  shook  his  head,  Zazubrina  danced  around  him, 
and  the  public  kept  on  laughing,  and  egged  on  its 
jester  with  cries  of  encouragement. 

At  that  very  moment  the  red  kitten  suddenly 
appeared  in  the  yard.  Leisurely  he  entered  the  court- 
yard, gracefully  lifting  his  paws,  trotting  along  with 
tail  erect,  and  evidently  without  the  slightest  fear 
of  coming  to  grief  beneath  the  feet  of  the  crowd 
frantically  careering  round  Zazubrina  and  the  be- 
spattered hobbledehoy,  who  was  violently  rubbing 
away  with  the  palm  of  his  hand  the  mass  of  oil  and 
verdigris  which  covered  his  face. 


150  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"  My    brothers ! "     someone    suddenly    exclaimed, 
"pussy  is  coming." 
"  Pussy !     Ah,  the  little  rogue !  " 
"  What  ho,  ginger !     Puss,  puss,  puss !  " 
They  caught  up  the  cat  and  he  was  passed  from 
hand  to  hand ;  everybody  caressed  him. 

"  Look,  there's  no  starving  there !  What  a  fat  little 
tummy !  " 

"  What  a  big  cat  he's  growing !  " 
"  And  what  claws  he  has  got,  the  little  devil !  " 
"  Let  him  go !     Let  him  play  as  he  likes !  " 
"  Well,  I'll  give  him  a  back !     Play  away,  puss !  " 
Zazubrina  was  deserted.     He  stood  alone,  wiping 
the  green  paint  off  his  whiskers  with  his  fingers,  and 
watched  the    kitten    leaping  on    to    the    backs  and 
shoulders  of  the  prisoners.     Whenever  he  displayed 
a  wish  to  sit  still  on  any  particular  shoulder  or  back, 
the  men  would  wriggle  about  and  shake  him  off,  and 
then  he  would  set  off  leaping  and  bounding  again 
from  one  shoulder  to  the  next.     This  diverted  them 
all  exceedingly,  and  the  laughter  was  incessant 

"  Come,  my  friends !  let  us  paint  the  cat !  "  re- 
sounded the  voice  of  Zazubrina.  It  sounded  just  as  if 
Zazubrina,  in  proposing  this  pastime,  at  the  same  time 
begged  them  to  consent  to  it. 

There  was  a  commotion  among  the  crowd  of 
prisoners. 

"  But  it  will  be  the  death  of  him,"  cried  one. 
"  Paint  the  poor  beast — what  a  thing  to  say !  " 


THE  GREEN  KITTEN.  151 

"  What !  paint  a  live  animal,  Zazubrina !  You 
deserve  a  hiding !  " 

"  I  call  it  a  devilish  good  joke,"  cried  a  little,  broad- 
shouldered  man  with  a  fiery-red  beard,  enthusiastically. 

Zazubrina  already  held  the  kitten  in  his  hands,  and 
went  with  it  towards  the  pail  of  paint,  and  then 
Zazubrina  began  singing : 

"  Look,  my  brothers !  look  at  that! 
See  me  paint  the  ginger  cat ! 
Paint  him  well,  and  paint  him  green, 
And  then  we'll  dance  upon  the  scene." 

There  was  a  burst  of  laughter,  and  holding  their 
sides,  the  prisoners  made  a  way  in  their  midst,  and  I 
saw  quite  plainly  how  Zazubrina,  seizing  the  kitten  by 
the  tail,  flung  it  into  the  pail,  and  then  fell  a  singing 
and  dancing : 

"  Stop  that  mewing !  cease  to  squall ! 
Would  you  your  godfather  maul  ?  " 

Peals  of  laughter! 

"  Oh,  crooked-bellied  Judas !  "  piped  one  squeaky 
roice. 

"  Alas,  Batyushka !  "*  groaned  another. 

They  were  stifled,  suffocated  with  laughter. 
Laughter  twisted  the  bodies  of  these  people,  bent 
them  double,  vibrated  and  gurgled  in  the  air — a 

*  Little  father. 


15*  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

mighty,  devil-may-care  laughter,  growing  louder  con- 
tinually, and  reaching  the  very  confines  of  hysteria. 
Smiling  faces,  in  white  kerchiefs,  looked  down  from 
the  windows  of  the  women's  quarters  into  the  yard. 
The  Inspector,  squeezing  his  back  to  the  wall,  poked 
out  his  brawny  body,  and,  holding  it  with  both  hands, 
discharged  his  thick,  bass,  overpowering  laugh  in 
regular  salvoes. 

The  joke  scattered  the  folks  in  all  directions  around 
the  pail.  Performing  astounding  antics  with  his  legs, 
Zazubrina  danced  with  all  his  might,  singing  by  way  of 
accompaniment : 

"  Ah,  life  is  a  merry  thing, 

As  the  grey  cat  knew,  I  ween  ; 
And  her  son,  the  ginger  kitten, 
Now  lives  in  a  world  all  green." 

"  Yes,  that  it  will,  deuce  take  you,"  cried  the  man 
with  the  fiery-red  beard. 

But  Zazubrina  could  not  contain  himself.  Around 
him  roared  the  senseless  laughter  of  all  these  grey 
people,  and  Zazubrina  knew  that  he,  and  he  alone,  was 
the  occasion  of  all  their  laughter.  In  all  his  gestures, 
in  every  grimace  of  his  mobile  comic  face,  this 
consciousness  manifestly  proclaimed  itself,  and  his 
whole  body  twitched  with  the  enjoyment  of  his 
triumph.  He  had  already  seized  the  kitten  by  the 
head,  and  wiping  from  its  fur  the  superfluous  paint, 


THE  GREEN  KITTEN.  153 

with  the  ecstasy  of  the  artist  conscious  of  his  victory 
over  the  mob,  never  ceased  dancing  and  improvising : 

"  My  dear  little  brothers, 

In  the  calendar  let  us  look, 
Here's  a  kitten  to  be  christened, 
And  no  name  for  it  in  the  book." 

Everything  laughed  around  the  mob  of  prisoners, 
intoxicated  by  this  senseless  mirth.  The  sun  laughed 
upon  the  panes  of  glass  in  the  iron-grated  windows. 
The  blue  sky  smiled  down  upon  the  courtyard 
of  the  prison,  and  even  its  dirty  old  walls  seemed 
to  be  smiling  with  the  smile  of  beings  who  feel 
obliged  to  stifle  all  mirth,  however  it  may  run  riot 
within  them.  From  behind  the  gratings  of  the 
windows  of  the  women's  department  the  faces  of 
women  looked  down  upon  the  yard,  they  also  laughed, 
and  their  teeth  glistened  in  the  sun.  Everything 
around  was  transformed,  as  it  were,  threw  off  its  dull, 
grey  tone,  so  full  of  anguish  and  weariness,  and  awoke 
to  merriment,  impregnated  with  that  purifying  laughter 
which,  like  the  sun,  made  the  very  dirt  look  more 
decent 

Placing  the  green  kitten  on  the  grass,  little  islets 
of  which,  springing  up  between  the  stones,  variegated 
the  prison-yard,  Zazubrina,  excited,  well-nigh  blown, 
and  covered  with  sweat,  still  continued  his  wild 
dance. 

But  the  laughter  had  already  died  away.     He  was 


154  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

overdoing  it,  very  much  overdoing  it.  The  people 
were  getting  tired  of  him.  Someone,  here  and  there, 
still  shrieked  hysterically ;  a  few  continued  to  laugh, 
but  already  there  were  pauses.  At  last  there  were 
moments  when  the  silence  was  general,  save  for  the 
singing,  dancing  Zazubrina,  and  the  kitten  which 
mewed  softly  and  piteously  as  it  lay  on  the  grass. 
It  was  scarcely  distinguishable  from  the  grass  in  colour, 
and,  no  doubt,  because  the  paint  had  blinded  it  and 
hampered  its  movements,  the  poor  slippery,  big- 
headed  creature  senselessly  tottered  on  his  trembling 
paws,  standing  still  as  if  glued  to  the  grass,  and  all  the 
while  it  kept  on  mewing,  Zazubrina  commented  on 
the  movements  of  the  kitten  as  follows : 

"  Look  ye,  Christian  people,  look, 
The  green  cat  seeks  a  private  nook, 
The  wholesome  ginger-coloured  puss 
To  find  a  place  in  vain  makes  fuss." 

"  Very  clever,  no  doubt,  you  hound,"  said  a  red- 
haired  lad 

The  public  regarded  its  artist  with  satiated  eyes. 

"  How  it  mews !  "  observed  the  hobbledehoy 
prisoner,  twisting  his  head  in  the  direction  of  the 
kitten,  and  he  looked  at  his  comrades.  They  regarded 
the  kitten  in  silence. 

"  Do  you  think  he'll  be  green  all  his  life  long  ?  " 
asked  the  lad. 

"  All  his  life  long,  indeed ! — how  long  do  you  think 


THE  GREEN  KITTEN.  155 

he  will  live,  then  ?  "  began  a  tall,  grey-bearded  prisoner, 
squatting  down  beside  poor  puss  ;  "  don't  you  see  he's 
dying  in  the  sun,  his  fur  is  all  sticking  to  him  like 
glue ;  he'll  turn  up  his  toes  soon.  .  ." 

The  kitten  mewed  spasmodically,  producing  a  re- 
action in  the  sentiments  of  the  prisoners. 

"  Turn  up  his  toes,  eh  ?  "  said  the  hobbledehoy, 
"  suppose  we  try  to  wash  it  off  him  ?  " 

Nobody  answered  him.  The  little  green  lump 
writhed  at  the  feet  of  the  rough  fellows,  a  pitiable 
object  of  utter  helplessness. 

"  Pooh !  I'm  all  of  a  muck  sweat !  "  screamed  Zazu- 
brina,  flinging  himself  on  the  ground.  Nobody  took 
the  slightest  notice  of  him. 

The  hobbledehoy  bent  over  the  kitten  and  took  it 
up  in  his  arms,  but  immediately  put  it  on  the  ground 
again.  "  It's  all  burning  hot,"  he  explained. 

Then  he  regarded  his  comrades,  and  sorrowfully 
said : 

"  Poor  puss,  look  at  him !  We  shall  not  have  our 
puss  much  longer.  What  was  the  use  of  killing  the 
poor  beast,  eh  ?  " 

"  Wait !  I  think  it's  picking  up  a  bit,"  said  the  red- 
haired  man. 

The  shapeless  green  creature  was  still  writhing 
on  the  grass ;  twenty  pairs  of  eyes  were  following 
its  movements,  and  there  was  not  the  shadow  of  a 
smile  in  any  of  them.  All  were  serious,  all  were 
silent,  all  of  them  were  as  miserable  to  look  upon 


156  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

as  that  kitten,  just  as  if  it  had  communicated  its  suffer- 
ing to  them  and  they  were  feeling  its  pangs. 

"  Pick  up  a  bit,  indeed !  "  laughed  the  hobbledehoy 
sardonically,  raising  his  voice,  "  very  much  so !  Poor 
puss  has  had  his  day.  We  all  loved  him.  Why  did 
we  torture  him  so?  Let  someone  put  him  out  of  his 
misery." 

"  And  who  was  the  cause  of  it  all  ?  "  shrieked  the 
red-haired  prisoner  savagely.  "  Why  there  he  is,  with 
his  devilish  joke !  " 

"  Come,"  said  Zazubrina  soothingly,  "  didn't  the 
whole  lot  of  you  agree  to  it  ?  " 

And  he  hugged  himself  as  if  he  were  cold. 

"  The  whole  lot  of  us,  indeed ! "  sneered  the 
hobbledehoy,  "  I  like  that.  You  alone  are  to  blame ! 
—yes,  you  are !  " 

"  Don't  you  roar,  pray,  you  bull-calf ! "  meekly 
suggested  Zazubrina. 

The  grey-headed  old  man  took  up  the  kitten,  and 
after  carefully  examining  it,  pronounced  his  opinion : 

"  If  we  were  to  dip  it  in  kerosene  we  might  wash  the 
paint  off." 

"  If  you'll  take  my  advice  you'll  seize  it  by  the  tail 
and  smash  it  against  the  wall,"  said  Zazubrina,  adding, 
with  a  laugh,  "  that's  the  simplest  way  out  of  it." 

"  What  ?  "  roared  the  red-haired  man,  "  and  if  I  wert 
to  treat  you  the  same  way,  how  would  you  like  it  ?  * 

"  The  devil,"  screamed  the  hobbledehoy,  and, 
snatching  the  kitten  out  of  the  old  man's  hands,  he 


THE  GREEN  KITTEN.  157 

set  off  running.  The  old  man  and  a  few  of  the  others 
went  after  him. 

Then  Zazubrina  remained  alone  in  the  midst  of  a 
group  of  people,  who  glowered  upon  him  with  evil 
and  threatening  eyes.  They  seemed  to  be  waiting 
for  something  from  him. 

"  Remember,  I  am  not  alone,  my  friends,"  whined 
Zazubrina. 

"  Shut  up !  "  shrieked  the  red-haired  man,  looking 
at  the  door ;  "  not  alone !  Who  else  is  there,  then  ?  " 

"  Why  the  whole  lot  of  you  here,"  piped  the  jester 
nervously. 

"You  hound,  you!" 

The  red-haired  man  shook  his  clenched  ftst  in 
Zazubrina's  very  teeth.  The  artist  dodged  back  only 
to  get  a  violent  blow  in  the  nape  of  the  neck. 

"  My  friends  .  .  ."  he  implored  piteously.  But 
his  friends  had  taken  note  that  the  two  warders  were 
a  good  way  off,  and,  thronging  quickly  round  their 
favourite,  knocked  him  off  his  legs  with  a  few  blows. 
Seen  from  a  little  distance  the  group  might  easily 
have  been  taken  for  a  party  engaged  in  lively  con- 
versation. Surrounded  and  concealed  by  them,  Zazu- 
brina lay  there  at  their  feet.  Occasionally  some  dull 
thuds  were  audible — they  were  kicking  away  at 
Zazubrina's  ribs,  kicking  deliberately,  without  the 
least  hurry,  each  man  waiting  in  turn  for  a  particularly 
favourable  kicking  spot  to  be  revealed  as  his  neigh- 
bour, after  planting  his  blow,  wriggled  his  foot  out  of 
action. 


158  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

Three  minutes  or  so  passed  thus.  Suddenly  the 
voice  of  the  warder  resounded  in  their  ears : 

"  Now,  you  devils !  what  are  you  about  there  ?  " 

The  prisoners  did  not  leave  off  the  tormenting 
process  immediately.  One  by  one  they  slowly  tore 
themselves  away  from  Zazubrina,  and  as  each  one  of 
them  went  away,  he  gave  him  a  parting  kick. 

When  they  had  all  gone,  he  still  remained  lying  on 
the  ground.  He  lay  on  his  stomach,  and  his  shoulders 
were  all  shivering — no  doubt  he  was  weeping — and  he 
kept  on  coughing  and  hawking.  Presently,  very 
cautiously,  as  if  fearing  to  fall  to  pieces,  he  slowly 
began  to  raise  himself  from  the  ground,  leaning  heavily 
on  his  left  arm,  then  bending  one  leg  beneath  him, 
and  whining  like  a  sick  dog,  sat  down  on  the 
ground. 

"  You're  pretending ! "  screeched  the  red-haired 
man  in  a  threatening  voice.  Then  Zazubrina  made  an 
effort,  and  quickly  stood  on  his  feet 

Then  he  tottered  to  one  of  the  walls  of  the  prison. 
One  arm  was  pressed  close  to  his  breast,  with  the  other 
he  groped  his  way  along.  There  he  now  stood,  holding 
on  to  the  wall  with  his  hand,  his  head  hanging  down 
towards  the  ground.  He  coughed  repeatedly. 

I  saw  how  dark  drops  were  falling  on  to  the  ground  ; 
they  also  glistened  quite  plainly  on  the  grey  ground 
of  the  prison  wall. 

And  so  as  not  to  defile  with  his  blood  the  official 
place  of  detention,  Zazubrina  kept  on  doing  his  best 


THE  GREEN  KITTEN.  159 

to  make  it  drip  on  the  ground,  so  that  not  a  single  drop 
should  fall  on  the  wall. 

How  they  did  laugh  and  jeer  at  him  to  be 
sure  .  .  . 

From  henceforth  the  kitten  vanished.  And 
Zazubrina  no  longer  had  a  rival  to  divide  with  him 
the  attention  of  the  prisoners. 


VI.— COMRADES. 
I. 

THE  burning  sun  of  July  shone  blindingly  down  on 
Smolkena,  flooding  its  old  huts  with  liberal  streams  of 
bright  sunshine.  There  was  a  particularly  large 
quantity  of  sunlight  on  the  roof  of  the  Starosta's*  hut, 
not  so  long  ago  re-roofed  with  smoothly-planed,  yellow, 
fragrant,  boards.  It  was  Sunday,  and  almost  the 
whole  population  of  the  village  had  come  out  into  the 
street  thickly  grown  over  with  grass  and  spotted  here 
and  there  with  lumps  of  dry  mud.  In  front  of  the 
Starosta's  house,  a  large  group  of  men  and  women 
were  assembled ;  some  were  sitting  on  the  mound  of 
earth  round  the  hut,  others  were  sitting  on  the  bare 
ground,  others  were  standing.  The  little  children 
were  chasing  each  other  in  and  out  of  the  groups,  to 
an  accompaniment  of  angry  rebukes  and  slaps  from 
the  grown-ups. 
The  centre  of  this  crowd  was  a  tall  man,  with  large 

*  Chief  of  a  village  community. 


COMRADES.  161 

drooping  moustaches.  To  judge  from  his  cinnamon- 
brown  face,  covered  with  thick,  grey  bristles,  and  a 
whole  network  of  deep  wrinkles — judging  from  the 
grey  tufts  of  hair  forcing  their  way  from  under  his 
dirty  straw  hat,  this  man  might  have  been  fifty  years 
of  age.  He  was  looking  on  the  ground,  and  the 
nostrils  of  his  large  and  gristly  nose  were  trembling, 
and  when  he  raised  his  head  to  cast  a  glance  at  the 
window  of  the  Starosta's  house,  his  large,  melancholy, 
almost  sinister  eyes  became  visible :  they  were  deep 
sunk  in  their  orbits,  and  his  thick  brows  cast  a  shadow 
over  their  dark  pupils.  He  was  dressed  in  the  brown 
shabby  under-coat  of  a  lay-brother,  scarcely  covering 
his  knees,  and  was  girt  about  with  a  cord.  There  was 
a  satchel  across  his  shoulder,  in  his  right  hand  he  held 
a  long  stick  with  an  iron  ferrule,  his  left  was  thrust 
into  his  bosom.  Those  around  him  regarded  him  sus- 
piciously, jeeringly,  with  contempt,  and  finally  with  an 
obvious  joy  that  they  had  succeeded  in  catching  the 
wolf  before  he  had  done  mischief  to  the  fold.  He  had 
come  walking  through  the  village,  and,  going  to  the 
window  of  the  Starosta,  had  asked  for  something  to 
drink.  The  Starosta  had  given  him  some  kvas*  and 
entered  into  conversation  with  him.  But  contrary  to 
the  habit  of  pilgrims,  the  wayfarer  had  answered  very 
unwillingly.  Then  the  Starosta  had  asked  him  for 
his  documents,  and  there  were  no  documents  forth- 

*  A  sour  popular  Russian  drink. 


1 6i  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

coming.  And  they  had  detained  the  wayfarer  and  had 
determined  to  send  him  to  the  local  magistrate.  The 
Starosta  had  selected  as  his  escort  the  village 
Sotsky*  and  was  now  giving  him  directions  in  the 
hut,  leaving  the  prisoner  in  the  midst  of  the  mob. 

As  if  fixed  to  the  trunk  of  a  willow  tree,  there  the 
prisoner  stood,  leaning  his  bowed  back  against  it  But 
now  on  the  staircase  of  the  hut  appeared  a  purblind 
old  man  with  a  foxy  face  and  a  grey,  wedge-shaped 
beard.  Gradually  his  booted  feet  descended  the 
staircase,  step  by  step,  and  his  round  stomach  waggled 
solidly  beneath  his  long  shirt.  From  behind  his 
shoulder  protruded  the  bearded,  four-cornered  face  of 
the  Sotsky. 

"  You  understand  then,  my  dear  Efimushka  ? " 
inquired  the  Starosta  of  the  Sotsky. 

"  Certainly,  why  not  ?  I  understand  thoroughly. 
That  is  to  say,  I,  the  Sotsky  of  Smolkena,  am  bound 
to  conduct  this  man  to  the  district  magistrate — and 
that's  all."  The  Sotsky  pronounced  his  speech 
staccato,  and  with  comical  dignity  for  the  benefit  of 
the  public. 

"  And  the  papers  ?  " 

"The  papers? — they  are  stored  away  safely  in  my 
breast-pocket" 

"  Well,  that's  all  right,"  said  the  Starosta  approvingly, 
at  the  same  time  scratching  his  sides  energetically. 

•  The  Surostn's  deputy. 


COMRADES.  163 

M  God  be  with  you,  then,"  he  added. 

"Well,  my  father,  shall  we  stroll  on,  then?"  said 
the  Sotsky  to  the  prisoner. 

"You  might  give  us  a  conveyance,"  replied  the 
prisoner  to  the  proposition  of  the  Sotsky. 

The  Starosta  smiled. 

"  A  con-vey-ance,  eh  ?  Go  along !  Our  brother 
the  wayfarer  here  is  used  to  lounging  about  the  fields 
and  villages — and  we've  no  horses  to  spare.  You 
must  go  on  your  own  legs,  that's  all." 

"  It  doesn't  matter,  let  us  go,  my  father !  "  said  the 
Sotsky  cheerfully.  "  Surely  you  don't  think  it  is  too 
far  for  us?  Twenty  versts  at  most,  thank  God! 
Come,  let  us  go,  'twill  be  nothing.  We  shall  do  it 
capitally,  you  and  I.  And  when  we  get  there  you 
shall  have  a  rest." 

"  In  a  cold  cellar,"  explained  the  Starosta. 

"  Oh,  that's  nothing,"  the  Sotsky  hastened  to  say, 
"  a  man  when  he  is  tired  is  not  sorry  to  rest  even  in  a 
dungeon.  And  then,  too,  a  cold  cellar — it  is  cooling 
after  a  hot  day — you'll  be  quite  comfortable  in  it" 

The  prisoner  looked  sourly  at  his  escort — the  latter 
smiled  merrily  and  frankly. 

"  Well,  come  along,  honoured  father !  Good-bye, 
Vasil  Gavriluich!  Let's  be  off !  " 

"  God  be  with  you,  Efimushka.  Be  on  your 
guard!" 

"  Be  wide-awake !  "  suggested  some  young  rustic 
out  of  the  crowd  to  the  Sotsky. 


164  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"  Do  you  think  I'm  a  child,  or  what?"  replied  the 
Sotsky. 

And  off  they  went,  sticking  close  to  the  huts  in 
order  to  keep  in  the  strip  of  shadow.  The  man  in 
the  cassock  went  on  in  front,  with  the  slouching  but 
rapid  gait  of  an  animal  accustomed  to  roaming.  The 
Sotsky,  with  his  good  stout  stick  in  his  hand,  walked 
behind  him. 

Efimushka  was  a  little,  undersized,  muzhik,  but 
strongly  built,  with  a  broad,  good-natured  face  framed 
in  a  rough,  red  straggling  beard  beginning  a  little 
below  his  bright  grey  eyes.  He  always  seemed  to  be 
smiling  at  something,  showing,  as  he  did  so,  his 
healthy  yellow  teeth,  and  wrinkling  his  nose  as  if 
he  wanted  to  sneeze.  He  was  clothed  in  a  long  cloak, 
trussed  up  in  the  waist  so  as  not  to  hamper  his  feet, 
and  on  his  head  was  stuck  a  dark-green,  brimless 
cap,  drawn  down  over  his  brows  in  front,  and  very 
much  like  the  forage  cap  of  his  prisoner. 

His  fellow-traveller  walked  along  without  paying 
him  the  slightest  attention,  just  as  if  he  were  un- 
conscious of  his  presence  behind  him.  They  went 
along  by  the  narrow  country  path,  zigzagged  through 
a  billowy  sea  of  rye,  and  the  shadows  of  the  travellers 
glided  along  the  golden  ears  of  corn. 

The  mane  of  a  wood  stood  out  blue  against  the 
horizon ;  to  the  left  of  the  travellers  fields  and  fields 
extended  to  an  endless  distance,  in  the  midst  of  which 
lay  villages  like  dark  patches,  and  behind  these  again 


COMRADES.  165 

lay  fields  and  fields,  dwindling  away  into  a  bluish 
mist. 

To  the  right,  from  the  midst  of  a  group  of  willows, 
the  spire  of  a  church,  covered  with  lead,  but  not  yet 
gilded  over,  pierced  the  blue  sky — it  glistened  so  in 
the  sun  that  it  was  painful  to  look  upon.  The  larks 
were  singing  in  the  sky,  the  cornflowers  were  smiling 
in  the  rye,  and  it  was  hot — almost  stifling.  The  dust 
flew  up  from  beneath  the  feet  of  the  travellers. 

Efimushka  began  to  feel  bored.  Naturally  a  great 
talker,  he  could  not  keep  silent  for  long,  and,  clearing 
his  throat,  he  suddenly  burst  forth  with  two  bars 
of  a  song  in  a  falsetto  voice. 

"  My  voice  can't  quite  manage  the  tune,  burst  it !  " 
he  said,  "  and  I  could  sing  once  upon  a  time.  The 
Vishensky  teacher  used  to  say :  '  Come  along, 
Efimushka,'  and  then  we  would  sing  together — a 
capital  fellow  he  was  too !  " 

"  Who  was  he  ?  "  growled  the  man  in  the  cassock 

"  The  Vishensky  teacher    .     .     ." 

"  Did  he  belong  to  the  Vishensky  family?  " 

"Vishensky  is  the  name  of  a  village,  my  brother 
And  the  teacher's  name  was  Pavel  Mikhaluich.  A 
first-rate  sort  the  man  was.  He  died  three  years 
ago." 

"Young?" 

"  Not  thirty." 

"What  did  he  die  of?" 

"  Grief,  I  should  say." 


1 66  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

Efimushka's  companion  cast  a  furtive  glance  at  him 
and  smiled. 

"  It  was  like  this,  dear  man.  He  taught  and  taught 
for  seven  years  at  a  stretch,  and  then  he  began  to 
cough.  He  coughed  and  coughed  and  he  grew 
anxious.  Now  anxiety  you  know  is  often  the  begin- 
ning of  vodka-drinking.  Now  Father  Aleyksyei  did 
not  love  him,  and  when  he  began  to  drink,  Father 
Aleyksyei  sent  reports  to  town,  and  said  this  and  that, 
the  teacher  had  taken  to  drink,  it  was  becoming  a 
scandal  And  in  reply  other  papers  came  from  the 
town,  and  they  sent  another  teacher-fellow  too.  He 
was  lanky  and  bony,  with  a  very  big  nose.  Well, 
Pavel  Mikhaluich  saw  that  things  were  going  wrong. 
He  grew  worried  and  ill  ...  They  sent  him 
straight  from  the  schoolroom  to  the  hospital,  and  in 
five  days  he  rendered  up  his  soul  to  God  .  .  . 
That's  all  .  .  ." 

For  a  time  they  went  on  in  silence.  The  forest  drew 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  travellers  at  every  step, 
growing  up  before  their  very  eyes  and  turning  from 
blue  to  green. 

"  We  are  going  to  the  forest,  eh  ? "  inquired  the 
traveller  of  Enmushka. 

"  We  shall  hit  the  fringe  of  it,  it  is  about  a  verst  and 
a  half  distant  now.  But,  eh?  what?  You're  a  nice 
one,  too,  my  worthy  father,  I  have  my  eye  upon  you !  " 

And  Enmushka  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"  What  ails  you  ?  "  inquired  the  prisoner. 


COMRADES.  167 

"  Nothing,  nothing !  Ah,  ha !  We  are  going  to 
the  forest,  eh  ?  "  says  he.  "  You  are  a  simpleton,  my 
dear  man.  Another  in  your  place  would  not  have 
asked  that  question,  that  is,  if  he  had  had  more  sense. 
Another  would  have  made  straight  for  the  forest,  and 
then.  .  ." 

"Well!" 

"  Oh,  nothing,  nothing.  I  can  see  through  you, 
my  brother.  Your  idea  is  a  thin  reed  in  my  eyes.  No, 
you  had  better  cast  away  that  idea,  I  tell  you,  so  far  as 
that  forest  is  concerned.  We  must  come  to  an  under- 
standing, I  see,  you  and  I.  Why,  I  would  tackle  three 
such  as  you,  and  polish  you  off  singly  with  my  left 
hand.  .  .  Do  you  take  me  ? " 

"Take  you?  I  take  you  for  a  fool!"  said  the 
prisoner  curtly  and  expressively. 

"  Ah,  ha!  I've  guessed  what  you  were  up  to,  ch?  " 
said  Eftmushka,  triumphantly. 

"  You  scarecrow !  What  do  you  think  you've 
guessed  ?  "  asked  the  prisoner  with  a  wry  smile. 

"  Why,  about  the  wood  ...  I  understand 
.  .  .  I  mean  that  when  we  came  to  the  wood  you 
meant  to  knock  me  down — knock  me  down,  I  say — 
and  bolt  across  the  fields  or  through  the  wood.  Isn't 
that  so?" 

"  You're  a  fool !  " — and  the  enigmatic  man  shrugged 
his  shoulders  ..."  Come  now,  where  could  I 
go?  " 

"  Where  ?  why  where  you  liked,  that  was  your 
affair." 


1 68  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"But  where?"  Efimushka's  comrade  was  either 
angry  or  really  wished  to  hear  from  his  escort  where 
he  might  have  been  expected  to  go. 

"  I  tell  you,  wherever  you  chose,"  Eftmushka  ex- 
plained quietly. 

"  I  have  nowhere  to  run  to,  my  brother,  nowhere !  " 
said  his  companion  calmly. 

"  Well,  well !  "  exclaimed  his  escort,  incredulously, 
and  even  waved  his  hand.  "  There's  always  some- 
where to  run  to.  The  earth  is  large.  There  is  always 
room  for  a  man  on  it." 

''  But  what  do  you  mean  ?  Do  you  really  want  me 
to  run  away,  then  ?  "  inquired  the  prisoner  curiously, 
with  a  smile. 

"  Go  along !  You  are  really  too  good !  Is  that 
right  now?  You  run  away,  and  instead  of  you  some- 
one else  is  put  into  gaol !  I  also  should  be  locked  up. 
No,  thank  you.  I've  a  word,  to  say  to  that." 

"  You  are  a  blessed  fool,  you  are  .  .  .  but  you 
seem  a  good  sort  of  muzhik  too,"  said  Enmushka's 
comrade  with  a  sigh.  Enmushka  did  not  hesitate  to 
agree  with  him. 

"  Exactly,  they  do  call  me  blessed  sometimes,  and  it 
is  also  true  that  I  am  a  good  muzhik.  I  am  simple- 
minded,  that's  the  chief  cause  of  it  Other  folks  get 
on  by  artfulness  and  cunning,  but  what  is  that  to  me  ? 
I  am  a  man  all  by  myself  in  the  world.  Deal  falsely 
— and  you  will  die ;  deal  justly — and  you  will  die  all 
the  same.  So  I  always  keep  straight,  it  is  greater." 


COMRADES.  169 

"  You're  a  good  fellow !  "  observed  his  companion 
indifferently. 

"  How !  Why  should  I  make  my  soul  crooked  when 
I  stand  here  all  alone.  I'm  a  free  man,  little  brother. 
I  live  as  I  wish  to  live,  I  go  through  life  and  am  a 
law  to  myself.  .  .  Well,  well! — But,  say!  what  do 
they  call  you  ?  " 

"What?    Well— say  Ivan  Ivanov." 

"  So !     Are  you  of  a  priestly  stock  or  what  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Really?     I  thought  you  were  of  a  priestly  family." 

"  Because  I  am  dressed  like  this,  eh  ?  " 

"  It's  like  this.  You've  all  the  appearance  of  a  run- 
away monk  or  of  an  unfrocked  priest.  But  then,  your 
face  does  not  correspond.  By  your  face  I  should  take 
you  for  a  soldier.  God  only  knows  what  manner  of 
man  you  are  " — and  Efimushka  cast  an  inquisitive  look; 
upon  the  pilgrim.  The  latter  sighed,  readjusted  his 
hat,  wiped  his  sweating  forehead,  and  asked  the 
Sotsky : 

"  Do  you  smoke  ?  " 

"  Alas !  crying  your  clemency !  I  do,  indeed, 
smoke." 

He  drew  from  his  bosom  a  greasy  tobacco-pouch, 
and  bowing  his  head,  but  without  stopping,  began 
stuffing  the  tobacco  into  the  clay  pipe. 

"  There  you  are,  then,  smoke  away ! "  The 
prisoner  stopped,  and  bending  down  to  the  match 
lighted  by  his  escort,  drew  in  his  cheeks.  A  little 
blue  cloud  rose  into  the  air. 


170  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"  Well,  what  may  your  people  have  been  ?  City 
people,  eh  ?  " 

"  Gentry !  "  said  the  prisoner  curtly,  spitting  aside 
at  an  ear  of  corn  already  enveloped  by  the  golden 
sunshine. 

"  Eh,  eh !  Very  pretty !  Then  how  do  you  come  to 
be  strolling  about  like  this  without  a  passport  ?  " 

"  It  is  my  way !  " 

"  Ah,  ha !  A  likely  tale !  Your  gentry  do  not  usually 
live  this  wolf's  life,  eh?  You're  a  poor  wretch,  you 
are!" 

"  Very  well — chatter  away !  "  said  the  poor  wretch 
drily. 

Yet  Enmushka  continued  to  gaze  at  the  passportless 
man  with  ever-increasing  curiosity  and  sympathy,  and 
shaking  his  head  meditatively,  continued : 

"  Ah,  yes !  How  fate  plays  with  a  man  if  you  come 
to  think  of  it?  Well,  it  may  be  true  for  all  that  I 
know  that  you  are  a  gentleman,  for  you  have  such  a 
majestic  bearing.  Have  you  lived  long  in  this  guise?  " 

The  man  with  the  majestic  bearing  looked  grimly 
at  Enmushka,  and  waving  him  away  as  if  he  had 
been  an  importunate  tuft  of  hair :  "  Shut  up !  "  said  he, 
"  you  keep  on  like  an  old  woman !  " 

"  Oh,  don't  be  angry !  "  cried  Enmushka  soothingly, 
"  I  speak  from  a  pure  heart — my  heart  is  very  good." 

"  Then  you're  lucky.  But  your  tongue  gallops  along 
without  stopping,  and  that  is  unlucky  for  me." 

"  All  right !     I  will  shut  up,  maybe — indeed,  it  would 


COMRADES.  171 

be  easy  to  shut  up  if  only  a  man  did  not  want  to  hear 
your  conversation.  And  then,  too,  you  get  angry 
without  due  cause.  Is  it  my  fault  that  you  have  taken 
up  the  life  of  a  vagabond  ?  " 

The  prisoner  stood  still  and  clenched  his  teeth  so 
hard  that  the  sharp  corners  of  his  cheek-bones  pro- 
jected, and  his  grey  bristles  stood  up  like  a  hedgehog's. 
He  measured  Enmushka  from  head  to  foot  with 
screwed-up  eyes,  which  blazed  with  wrath. 

But  before  Efimushka  had  had  time  to  observe  this 
play  of  feature,  he  had  once  more  begun  to  measure 
the  ground  with  broad  strides. 

A  shade  of  distraught  pensiveness  lay  across  the 
face  of  the  garrulous  Sotsky.  He  looked  upwards, 
whence  flowed  the  trills  of  the  larks,  and  whistled  in 
concert  between  his  teeth,  beating  time  to  his  footsteps 
with  his  stick  as  he  marched  along. 

They  drew  nearer  to  the  confines  of  the  wood. 
There  it  stood,  a  dark,  immovable  wall — not  a  sound 
came  from  it  to  greet  the  travellers.  The  sun  was 
already  sinking,  and  its  oblique  rays  coloured  the  tops 
of  the  trees  purple  and  gold.  A  breath  of  fragrant 
freshness  came  from  the  trees,  the  gloom  and  the 
concentrated  silence  which  filled  the  forest  gave  birth 
to  strange  sensations. 

When  a  forest  stands  before  our  eyes,  dark  and 
motionless,  when  it  is  all  plunged  in  mysterious  silence, 
and  every  single  tree  seems  to  be  listening  intently  to 
something — then  it  seems  to  us  as  if  the  whole  forest 


iya  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

were  filled  with  some  living  thing  which  is  only  hiding 
away  for  a  time.  And  you  wait  expectantly  for  some- 
thing immense  and  incomprehensible  to  the  human 
understanding  to  emerge  the  next  moment,  and  speak 
in  a  mighty  voice  concerning  the  great  mysteries  of 
nature  and  creation. 


II. 


On  arriving  at  the  skirts  of  the  wood  Efimushka 
and  his  comrade  resolved  to  rest,  and  sat  down  on 
the  grass  round  the  trunk  of  a  huge  oak.  The  prisoner 
slowly  unloosed  his  knapsack"  from  his  shoulder,  and 
said  to  the  Sotsky  indifferently :  "  Would  you  like  some 
bread?" 

"  Give  me  some,  and  I'll  show  you,"  said  Efimushka, 
smiling. 

And  they  began  to  munch  their  bread  in  silence. 
Efimushka  ate  slowly,  sighing  to  himself  from  time  to 
time,  and  gazing  about  the  fields  to  the  left  of  him ; 
but  his  comrade,  altogether  absorbed  in  the  process 
of  assimilation,  ate  quickly,  and  chewed  noisily,  with 
his  eyes  fixed  steadily  on  his  morsel  of  bread.  The 
fields  were  growing  dark,  the  ears  of  corn  had  already 
lost  their  golden  colouring,  and  were  turning  a  rosy- 
yellow  ;  ragged  clouds  were  creeping  up  the  sky  from 
the  south-west,  and  their  shadows  fell  upon  the  plain — 
fell  and  crept  along  the  corn  towards  the  wood,  where 
sat  the  two  dusky  human  figures.  And  from  the  trees 


COMRADES.  173 

also  shadows  descended  upon  the  earth,  and  the  breath 
of  these  shadows  wafted  sorrow  into  the  soul 

"  Glory  be  to  Thee,  O  Lord ! "  exclaimed 
Efimushka,  gathering  up  the  crumbs  of  his  piece  of 
bread  from  the  ground,  and  licking  them  off  the  palm 
of  his  hand.  .  .  "  The  Lord  hath  fed  us,  no  eye 
beheld  us.  And  if  any  eye  hath  seen,  unoffended 
it  hath  been.  Well,  friend,  shall  we  sit  here  a 
little  while  ?  How  about  that  cold  dungeon  of  ours  ?  " 

The  other  shook  his  head. 

"  Well,  this  is  a  very  nice  place,  and  has  many 
memories  for  me.  Over  there  used  to  be  the  mansion 
of  Squire  Tuchkov.  .  ." 

"Where?"  asked  the  prisoner  quickly,  turning  in 
the  direction  indicated  by  a  wave  of  Efimushka's  hand. 

"  Over  there,  behind  that  rising  land.  Everything 
around  here  belongs  to  them.  They  were  the  richest 
people  hereabouts,  but  after  the  emancipation  they 
dwindled  ...  I  also  belonged  to  them  once.  All 
of  us  hereabouts  belonged  to  them.  It  was  a  great 
family.  The  squire  himself,  Aleksander  Nikietich 
Tuchkov,  was  a  colonel.  There  were  children,  too, 
four  sons ;  I  wonder  what  has  become  of  them  all  now  ? 
Really  folks  are  carried  away  like  autumn  leaves  by  the 
wind.  Only  one  of  them,  Ivan  Aleksandrovich,  is  safe 
and  sound — I  am  taking  you  to  him  now — he  is  our 
district  magistrate.  .  .  He  is  old  already." 

The  prisoner  laughed.  It  was  a  hollow,  internal  sort 
of  laugh — his  bosom  and  his  stomach  were  convulsed, 


174  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

but  his  face  remained  immovable,  and  through  his 
gnashing  teeth  came  hollow  sounds  like  sharp  barks. 

Efimushka  shuddered  painfully,  and,  moving  his 
stick  closer  to  his  hand,  asked  :  "  What  ails  you  ?  Is 
anything  the  matter?  " 

"  Nothing — or  at  any  rate,  it  is  all  over  now,"  said 
the  prisoner,  spasmodically,  but  amicably — "  but  go 
on  with  your  story." 

"Well,  that's  how  it  is,  you  see — the  Tuchkov 
Squires  used  to  be  something  here,  and  now  there 
are  none  left  .  .  Some  of  them  died,  and  some  of 
them  came  to  grief,  and  now  never  a  word  do  you  hear 
of  them — never  a  word.  There  was/Dne  in  particular 
who  used  to  be  here.  .  .  the  youngest  of  the  lot 
.  .  .  they  called  him  Victor  .  .  .  Vick. 
.  .  .  He  and  I  were  comrades.  In  the  days  when 
the  emancipation  was  promulgated,  he  and  I  were  lads 
fourteen  years  old.  .  .  Ah,  what  a  fine  young  chap 
he  was — the  Lord  be  good  to  his  dear  little  soul !  A 
pure  stream,  if  ever  there  was  one! — flashing  along 
and  gurgling  merrily  all  day  long.  I  wonder  where  he 
is  now  ?  Alive  or  already  no  more  ?  " 

"  Was  he  such  a  frightfully  good  fellow  as  all  that?  " 
inquired  Efimushka's  fellow-traveller  quietly. 

"  That  he  was !  "  exclaimed  Efimushka,  "  handsome, 
with  a  head  of  his  own,  and  such  a  good  heart !  Ah, 
thou  pilgrim  man,  good  heart  alive,  he  was  a  ripe 
berry  if  you  like !  If  only  you  could  have  seen  the 
pair  of  us  in  those  days!  Aye,  aye,  aye!  What 


COMRADES.  175 

games  we  did  play !  What  a  merry  life  was  ours ! — 
raspberries  la  la* ! — '  Efimka ! '  he  would  cry, '  let  us  go 
a  hunting ! '  He  had  a  gun  of  his  own — his  father  gave 
it  to  him  on  his  name-day — and  he  let  me  carry  it  for 
him.  And  off  we  went  to  the  woods  for  a  whole  day, 
nay,  for  two,  for  three  days !  When  we  came  home — 
he  had  an  imposition,  and  I  had  a  whacking.  Yet 
look  you !  the  next  day  he  would  say :  '  Efimka !  shall 
we  go  after  mushrooms  ?  '  Thousands  of  birds  we  killed 
together.  And  as  for  mushrooms — we  gathered 
poodst  of  them !  And  the  butterflies  and  cockchafers 
he  caught,  and  stuck  them  on  pins  in  little  boxes! 
And  he  taught  me  my  lessons  too !  '  Efimka,'  said  he, 
'  I'll  teach  you.'  And  he  went  at  it  hammer  and  tongs. 
'  Come,  begin,'  says  he  ;  '  say  A,'  and  I  roared  '  A-a-a ! ' 
How  we  laughed.  At  first  I  looked  upon  it  as  a  joke. 
What  does  a  boor  want  with  reading  and  writing? 
But  he  persuaded  me.  '  Come,  you  little  fool,'  says  he, 
'  the  emancipation  was  given  to  you  that  you  might 
learn.  You  must  learn  your  letters  in  order  to  know 
how  to  live  and  where  to  seek  for  justice.'  Of  course, 
children  heard  their  parents  speak  like  that  in  those 
days,  and  began  to  talk  the  same  way  themselves. — 
It  was  all  nonsense,  of  course — true  learning  is  in  the 
heart,  and  it  is  the  heart  that  teaches  the  right  way. 
So  he  taught  me,  you  see !  How  he  made  me  stick  to 
it!  He  gave  me  no  rest,  I  can  tell  you.  What 

*  Equivalent  to  "  beer  and  skittles."  f  A  pood  «*  40  Ib. 


176  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

torments !  '  Vick,'  I  said, '  I  can't  learn  my  letters.  It's 
not  in  me.  I  really  can't  do  it'  Oh,  how  he  pitched 
into  me.  Sometimes  he  lambed  it  into  me  with  a  whip 
— but  teach  me  he  would !  '  Oh,  be  merciful,'  I'd  cry ! 
'  Learn,  then,'  he  would  say !  Once  I  ran  away  from 
him,  regularly  bolted,  and  there  was  a  to  do.  He 
searched  for  me  all  day  with  a  gun — he  would  have 
shot  me.  He  said  to  me  afterwards :  '  If  I  had  met  you 
that  day,'  said  he, '  I  should  have  shot  you  ; '  that's  what 
he  said!  Ah,  he  was  so  fierce!  Fiery,  unbending, 
a  genuine  master.  He  loved  me,  and  he  had  a  soul  of 
flame.  Once  my  papa  scored  my  back  with  the  birch- 
rod,  and  when  Vick  saw  it  he  rushed  off  to  our  hut,  and 
there  was  a  scene,  my  brother !  He  was  all  pale  and 
trembling,  clenched  his  fists,  and  went  after  my  father 
into  his  bedroom.  '  How  dare  you  do  it  ?  '  he  asked. 
Papa  said :  '  But  I'm  his  father ! '  '  Father,  eh  ?  Very 
well,  father!  I  cannot  cope  with  you  single-handed, 
but  your  back  shall  be  the  same  as  Efimka's.'  He  burst 
into  tears  after  these  words,  and  ran  away.  And  what 
do  you  say  to  this,  my  father — he  was  as  good  as  his 
word.  Evidently  he  said  something  to  the  manor- 
house  servants  about  it  For  one  day  my  father  came 
home  groaning,  and  began  to  take  off  his  shirt,  but  it 
was  sticking  to  his  back !  My  father  was  very  angry 
with  me  that  time.  '  I've  suffered  all  through  you,'  he 
said,  '  you're  a  sneak,  the  squire's  sneak.'  And  he 
gave  me  a  sound  hiding.  But  he  was  wrong  about 
my  being  the  squire's  sneak  I  was  never  that,  he 
might  have  let  it  alone," 


COMRADES.  177 

"  No,  you  were  never  that,  Efim !  "  said  the  prisoner 
with  conviction,  and  he  trembled  all  over,  "  that's  plain, 
you  could  not  become  a  lickspittle,"  he  added  hastily. 

"  Ah,  he  was  a  one !  "  exclaimed  Efimushka,  "  and 
I  loved  him.  Ah,  Vick,  Vick !  Such  a  talented  lad, 
too.  Everyone  loved  him,  it  was  not  only  I.  He 
spoke  several  languages  ...  I  don't  remember 
what  they  were.  It's  thirty  years  ago.  Ah!  Lord, 
Lord!  Where  is  he  now?  Well,  if  he  be  alive,  he 
is  either  in  high  places  ...  or  else  he's  in  hot 
water.  Life  is  a  strange  distracting  thing !  It  seethes 
and  seethes,  and  makes  a  pretty  brew  of  the  best 
of  us !  And  folks  vanish  away ;  it  is  pitiful,  to  the 
last  gasp  it  is  pitiful !  "  Efimushka  sighed  heavily, 
and  his  head  sank  upon  his  breast.  For  a  moment 
there  was  silence. 

"And  are  you  sorry  for  me?"  asked  the  prisoner 
merrily.  There  was  no  doubt  about  his  merry  way 
of  asking,  his  whole  face  was  lit  up  by  a  good  and 
kindly  smile. 

"  You're  a  rum  'un !  "  exclaimed  Efimushka ;  "  one 
cannot  but  pity  you  of  course !  What  are  you,  if  you 
come  to  think  of  it?  Wandering  about  as  you  do, 
it  is  plain  that  you  have  nothing  of  your  own  in  the 
earth — not  a  corner,  not  a  chip  that  you  can  call  your 
own.  Maybe,  too,  you  carry  about  with  you  some 
great  sin — who  knows  what  you  are?  In  a  word, 
you're  a  miserable  creature." 

"  So  it  is,"  answered  the  prisoner. 

M 


178  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

And  again  they  were  silent.  The  sun  had  already 
set,  and  the  shadows  were  growing  thicker.  In  the 
air  there  was  a  fresh  smell  of  earth  and  flowers  and 
sylvan  humidity.  For  a  long  time  they  sat  there  in 
silence. 

"  However  nice  it  may  be  to  stay  here  we  must 
still  be  going.  We  have  some  eight  versts  before 
us.  Come  now,  my  father,  let  us  be  going !  " 

"  Let  us  sit  a  little  longer,"  begged  "  the  father." 

"Well,  I  don't  care,  I  love  to  be  about  the  woods 
at  night  myself.  But  when  shall  we  get  to  the  district 
magistrate  ?  He  will  blow  me  up,  it  is  late." 

"  Rubbish,  he  won't  blow  you  up." 

"  I  suppose  you'll  say  a  little  word  on  our  behalf, 
eh?  "  remarked  the  Sotsky  with  a  smile. 

"  I  may." 

"Oh— ai!" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  You're  a  joker.     He'll  pepper  you  finely." 

"Flog  me,  eh?" 

"  He's  cruel !  And  quick  to  box  one's  ears,  and  at 
any  rate  you'll  leave  him  a  little  groggy  on  your  pins." 

"  Well,  well,  we'll  make  it  all  right  with  him,"  said 
the  prisoner  confidently,  at  the  same  time  giving  his 
escort  a  friendly  tap  on  the  shoulder. 

This  familiarity  did  not  please  Efimushka.  At  any 
rate  he,  after  all,  was  the  person  in  authority,  and  this 
blockhead  ought  not  to  have  forgotten  that  Efimushka 
carried  his  copper  plaque  of  office  on  his  bosom. 


COMRADES.  179 

Efimushka  rose  to  his  feet,  took  up  his  stick,  drew 
forth  his  plaque,  let  it  hang  openly  on  the  middle  of 
his  breast,  and  said,  severely : 

"Stand  up!     Let's  be  off!" 

"  I'm  not  going,"  said  the  prisoner. 

Efimushka  was  flabbergasted.  Screwing  up  his 
eyes  he  was  silent  for  a  moment,  not  understanding 
why  this  prisoner  should  suddenly  have  taken  to 
jesting. 

"  Come,  don't  make  a  pother,  let's  be  going !  "  he 
said  somewhat  more  softly. 

"I  am  not  going,"  repeated  the  prisoner  emphati- 
cally. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  shrieked  Efimushka,  full  of  rage  and 
amazement. 

"  Because  I  want  to  pass  the  night  here  with  you. 
Come !  let  us  light  a  fire !  " 

"  I  let  you  pass  the  night  here  ?  I  light  a  fire  here 
by  your  side,  eh  ?  A  pretty  thing,  indeed !  "  growled 
Efimushka.  Yet  at  the  bottom  of  his  soul  he  was 
amazed.  The  man  had  said :  I  won't  go !  but  had 
shown  no  signs  of  opposition,  no  disposition  to  quarrel, 
but  simply  lay  down  on  the  ground  and  that  was  all. 
What  was  to  be  the  end  of  it? 

"  Don't  make  a  row,  Efim !  "  advised  the  prisoner 
coolly. 

Efimushka  was  again  silent,  and,  shifting  from  leg 
to  leg  as  he  stood  over  the  prisoner,  regarded  him 
with  wide-open  eyes.  And  the  latter  kept  looking  at 


i8o  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

him  and  looking  at  him  and  smiling.     Efimushka  fell 
a  pondering  as  to  what  he  ought  to  be  doing  next 

And  how  was  it  that  this  vagabond,  who  had  been 
so  surly  and  sullen  all  along,  should  all  at  once  have 
become  so  gentle?  Wouldn't  it  be  as  well  to  fall 
upon  him,  twist  his  arms,  give  him  a  couple  of  whacks 
on  the  neck,  and  so  put  an  end  to  all  this  nonsense? 
And  with  as  severely  an  official  tone  as  he  could 
command,  Efimushka  said : 

"  Come,  you  rascal,  stir  your  stumps !  Get  up,  I 
say!  And  I  tell  you  this,  I'll  make  you  trot  along 
then,  never  fear!  Do  you  understand?  Very  well! 
Look !  I  am  about  to  strike." 

"  Strike  me?"  asked  the  prisoner  with  a  smile. 

"  Yes,  you  ;  what  are  you  thinking  about,  eh  ?  " 

"  What !  would  you,  Efimushka  Gruizlov,  strike  me, 
Vic  Tuchkov?" 

"  Alas !  you  are  a  little  wide  of  the  mark,  you  are," 
cried  Efimushka  in  astonishment ;  "  but  who  are  you, 
really?  What  sort  of  game  is  this?" 

"  Don't  screech  so,  Efimushka !  It  is  about  time 
you  recognised  me,  I  think,"  said  the  prisoner,  smiling 
quietly  and  regaining  his  feet ;  "  how  do  you  find 
yourself,  eh  ?  " 

Efimushka  bounded  back  from  the  hand  extended 
to  him,  and  gazed  with  all  his  eyes  at  the  face  of  his 
prisoner.  Then  his  lips  began  to  tremble,  and  his 
whole  face  puckered  up. 

"Viktor  Aleksandrovich — is  it  really  and  truly 
you  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  whisper. 


COMRADES.  181 

"  If  you  like  I'll  show  you  my  documents,  or  better 
still,  I'll  call  to  mind  old  times.  Let's  see — don't  you 
recollect  how  you  fell  into  the  wolf's  lair  in  the 
Ramensky  fir- woods  ?  Or  how  I  climbed  up  that  tree 
after  the  nest,  and  hung  head  downwards  for  the  fun 
of  the  thing?  Or  how  we  stole  the  plums  of  that 
old  Quaker  woman  Petrovna  ?  And  the  tales  she  used 
to  tell  us?" 

Efimushka  sat  down  on  the  ground  heavily  and 
laughed  awkwardly. 

"  You  believe  me  now,  eh  ?  "  asked  the  prisoner,  and 
he  sat  down  alongside  of  him,  looked  him  in  the  face, 
and  laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  Efimushka  was 
silent.  It  had  grown  absolutely  dark  around  them. 
In  the  forest  a  confused  murmuring  and  whispering 
had  arisen.  Far  away  in  the  thickest  part  of  the 
wood  the  wail  of  a  night-bird  could  be  heard.  A 
cloud  was  passing  over  the  wood  with  an  almost  per- 
ceptible motion 

"  Well,  Efim,  art  thou  not  glad  to  meet  me  ?  Or 
art  thou  so  very  glad  after  all?  Ah — holy  soul! 
Thou  hast  remained  the  child  thou  wert  wont  to  be. 
Efim?  Say  something,  my  dear  old  paragon!  " 

Efimushka  cleared  his  throat  violently. 

"  Well,  my  brother !  Aye,  aye,  aye ! "  and  the 
prisoner  shook  his  head  reproachfully.  "  What's  up, 
eh?  Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself?  Here  are  you, 
in  your  fiftieth  year,  and  yet  you  waste  your  time  in 
this  wretched  sort  of  business.  Chuck  it !  " — and 


1 82  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

putting  his  arm  round  the  Sotsky's  shoulder  he  lightly 
shook  him.  The  Sotsky  laughed,  a  tremulous  sort 
of  laugh,  and  at  last  he  spoke,  without  looking  at  his 
neighbour. 

"  What  am  I  ?  .  .  .  I'm  glad,  of  course  .  ,  . 
And  you  to  be  like  this?  How  can  I  believe  it?  You 
and  .  .  .  such  a  business  as  this!  Vic — and  in 
such  a  plight !  In  a  dungeon  .  .  .  without  pass- 
ports .  v  .  living  on  crusts  of  bread  .  .  . 
without  tobacco  .  .  .  Oh,  Lord!  .  .  .  Is  this 
a  right  state  of  things?  If  I  were  like  that  for 
instance  .  .  .  and  you  were  even  a  Sotsky  .  .  . 
even  that  would  be  easier  to  bear!  And  now  how 
will  it  end?  How  can  I  look  you  in  the  face?  I 
had  always  a  joyful  recollection  of  you  .  .  .  Vic 
•.,  .  .  as  you  may  think  .  .  .  Even  then  my 
heart  ached.  But  now !  Oh,  Lord !  Why,  if  I  were 
to  tell  people — they  wouldn't  believe  it." 

He  murmured  these  broken  phrases,  gazing  fixedly 
at  his  feet,  and  clutching  now  his  bosom  and  now  his 
throat  with  one  hand. 

"  There's  no  need  to  tell  folks  anything  about  it 
And  pray  cease  _  .  .  it  is  not  your  fault,  is  it? 
Don't  be  disquieted  about  me  ...  I've  got  my 
papers.  I  didn't  show  them  to  the  Starosta  because 
I  didn't  want  to  be  known  about  here.  Brother  Ivan 
won't  put  me  in  quod ;  on  the  contrary,  he  will  help 
to  put  me  on  my  legs  again  .  .  .  I'll  stay  with 
him  a  bit,  and  you  and  I  shall  go  out  hunting  again, 


COMRADES.  183 

eh  ...  You  see  how  well  things  are  turning 
out." 

Vic  said  these  words  soothingly,  in  the  tone  used 
by  grown-up  people  when  they  would  soothe  spoilt 
children.  The  moon  emerged  from  the  forest  to  meet 
the  advancing  cloud,  and  the  edge  of  the  cloud, 
silvered  by  her  rays,  assumed  a  soft  opal  tint.  In 
the  corn  the  quails  were  calling ;  somewhere  or  other 
a  land-rail  rattled.  The  darkness  of  the  night  was 
growing  denser  and  denser. 

"And  this  is  all  really  true,"  began  Enmushka 
softly ;  "  Ivan  Aleksandrovich  will  be  glad  to  see  his 
own  brother,  and  you,  of  course,  will  begin  your  life 
again.  And  this  is  really  so  ...  And  we  will 
go  hunting  again  .  .  .  Only  'tis  not  altogether 
as  it  was.  I  daresay  you  have  done  some  deeds  in 
the  course  of  your  life.  And  it  is — ah,  what  is  it  ?  " 

Vic  Tuchkov  laughed. 

"  Brother  Eftmushka,  I  have  certainly  done  deeds 
in  my  life  and  to  spare  ...  I  have  run  through 
my  share  of  the  property  ...  I  have  not 
succeeded  in  the  service,  I  have  been  an  actor,  I  have 
been  a  timber-trade  clerk,  after  that  I've  had  a  troupe 
of  actors  of  my  own  .  .  .  and  after  that  I've  gone 
quite  to  the  dogs,  have  owed  debts  right  and  left,  got 
mixed  up  in  a  shady  affair.  Ah!  I've  been  every- 
thing— and  lost  everything." 

The  prisoner  waved  his  hand  and  smiled  good- 
humouredly. 


1 84  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"  Brother  Efimushka,  I  am  no  longer  a  gentleman. 
I  am  quite  cured  of  that.  Now  you  and  I  will  live 
together.  Eh!  what  do  you  say?  " 

"Nothing  at  all,"  said  Efimushka  with  a  stifled 
voice ;  "  I'm  ashamed,  that's  all.  Here  have  I  been 
saying  to  you  all  sorts  of  things  .  .  .  senseless 
words,  and  all  sorts  of  rubbish.  If  it  were  a  muzhik 
I  could  understand  it  ...  Well,  shall  we  make 
a  night  of  it  here?  I'll  make  a  fire." 

"All  right!  make  it!" 

The  prisoner  stretched  himself  at  full  length  on 
the  ground,  face  upwards,  while  the  Sotsky  dis- 
appeared into  the  skirt  of  the  wood,  from  whence 
speedily  resounded  the  cracking  of  twigs  and  branches. 
Soon  Eftmushka  reappeared  with  an  armful  of  fire- 
wood, and  in  a  few  moments  a  fiery  serpent  was 
merrily  creeping  along  a  little  hillock  of  dry  branches. 

The  old  comrades  gazed  at  it  meditatively,  sitting 
opposite  each  other,  and  smoking  their  one  pipe 
alternately. 

"  Just  like  it  used  to  be,"  said  Efimushka  sadly. 

"  Only  times  are  changed,"  said  Tuchkov. 

"Well,  life  is  stronger  than  character.  Lord,  how 
she  has  broken  you  down." 

"  It  is  still  undecided  which  of  the  two  will  prevail 
— she  or  I,"  laughed  Tuchkov. 

For  a  time  they  were  silent 

"  Oh,  Lord  God !  Vic !  how  lightly  you  take  it  all !  " 
exclaimed  Efimushka  bitterly. 


COMRADES.  185 

"  Certainly !  Why  not  ?  What  has  been — is  gone 
for  ever !  "  observed  Tuchkov  philosophically. 

Behind  them  arose  the  dark  wall  of  the  softly 
whispering  forest,  the  bonfire  crackled  merrily;  all 
around  them  the  shadows  danced  their  noiseless 
dance,  and  over  the  plain  lay  impenetrable  dark- 
ness. 


VII.— HER    LOVER. 

AN  acquaintance  of  mine  once  told  me  the  following 
story. 

When  I  was  a  student  at  Moscow  I  happened  to 
live  alongside  one  of  those  ladies  who — you  know  what 
I  mean.  She  was  a  Pole,  and  they  called  her  Teresa 
She  was  a  tallish,  powerfully-built  brunette,  with  black, 
bushy  eyebrows  and  a  large  coarse  face  as  if  carved 
out  by  a  hatchet — the  bestial  gleam  of  her  dark 
eyes,  her  thick  bass  voice,  her  cabman-like  gait  and 
her  immense  muscular  vigour,  worthy  of  a  fishwife, 
inspired  me  with  horror.  I  lived  on  the  top  flight  and 
her  garret  was  opposite  to  mine.  I  never  left  my  door 
open  when  I  knew  her  to  be  at  home.  But  this,  after 
all,  was  a  very  rare  occurrence.  Sometimes  I  chanced 
to  meet  her  on  the  staircase  or  in  the  yard,  and  she 
would  smile  upon  me  with  a  smile  which  seemed  to 
me  to  be  sly  and  cynical.  Occasionally,  I  saw  her 
drunk,  with  bleary  eyes,  touzled  hair,  and  a 
particularly  hideous  smile.  On  such  occasions  she 
would  speak  to  me : 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Student !  "  and  her  stupid  laugh 


HER  LOVER.  187 

would  still  further  intensify  my  loathing  of  her.  I 
should  have  liked  to  have  changed  my  quarters  in 
order  to  have  avoided  such  encounters  and  greetings ; 
but  my  little  chamber  was  a  nice  one,  and  there  was 
such  a  wide  view  from  the  window,  and  it  was  always 
so  quiet  in  the  street  below — so  I  endured. 

And  one  morning  I  was  sprawling  on  my  couch, 
trying  to  find  some  sort  of  excuse  for  not  attending  my 
class,  when  the  door  opened,  and  the  bass  voice  of 
Teresa  the  loathsome,  resounded  from  my  threshold : 

"  Good  health  to  you,  Mr.  Student!  " 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  I  said.  I  saw  that  her  face 
was  confused  and  supplicatory  ...  It  was  a  very 
unusual  sort  of  face  for  her. 

"  Look  ye,  sir !  I  want  to  beg  a  favour  of  you.  Will 
you  grant  it  me  ?  " 

I  lay  there  silent,  and  thought  to  myself : 

"  Gracious !  An  assault  upon  my  virtue,  neither 
more  nor  less. — Courage,  my  boy !  " 

"  I  want  to  send  a  letter  home,  that's  what  it  is,"  she 
said,  her  voice  was  beseeching,  soft,  timid. 

"  Deuce  take  you !  "  I  thought ;  but  up  I  jumped, 
sat  down  at  my  table,  took  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  said : 

"  Come  here,  sit  down,  and  dictate !  " 

She  came,  sat  down  very  gingerly  on  a  chair,  and 
looked  at  me  with  a  guilty  look. 

"  Well,  to  whom  do  you  want  to  write  ?  " 

"  To  Boleslav  Kashput,  at  the  town  of  Svyeptsyana, 
on  the  Warsaw  Road. 


1 88  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"Well,  fire  away!" 

"My  dear  Boles  .  .  .  my  darling  .  .  .  my 
faithful  lover.  May  the  Mother  of  God  protect  thee ! 
Thou  heart  of  gold,  why  hast  thou  not  written  for  such 
a  long  time  to  thy  sorrowing  little  dove,  Teresa?" 

I  very  nearly  burst  out  laughing.  "  A  sorrowing 
little  dove ! "  more  than  five  feet  high,  with  fists  a 
stone  and  more  in  weight,  and  as  black  a  face  as  if 
the  little  dove  had  lived  all  its  life  in  a  chimney,  and 
had  never  once  washed  itself!  Restraining  myself 
somehow,  I  asked : 

"Who  is  this  Bolest?" 

"  Boles,  Mr.  Student,"  she  said,  as  if  offended  with 
me  for  blundering  over  the  name,  "  he  is  Boles — my 
young  man." 

"  Young  man !  " 

"Why  are  you  so  surprised,  sir?  Cannot  I,  a  girl, 
have  a  young  man  ?  " 

She?     A  girl?    Well! 

"  Oh,  why  not  ?  "  I  said,  "  all  things  are  possible. 
And  has  he  been  your  young  man  long  ?  " 

"  Six  years." 

"Oh,  ho!"  I  thought  "Well,  let  us  write  your 
letter.  .  ." 

And  I  tell  you  plainly  that  I  would  willingly 
have  changed  places  with  this  Boles  if  his  fair 
correspondent  had  been  not  Teresa,  but  some- 
thing less  than  she. 

"  I    thank   you    most  heartily,   sir,    for    your    kind 


HER  LOVER.  189 

services,"  said  Teresa  to  me,  with  a  curtsey.  "  Perhaps 
7  can  show  you  some  service,  eh?  " 

"  No,  I  most  humbly  thank  you  all  the  same." 

"  Perhaps,  sir,  your  shirts  or  your  trousers  may  want 
a  little  mending  ?  " 

I  felt  that  this  mastodon  in  petticoats  had  made  me 
grow  quite  red  with  shame,  and  I  told  her  pretty 
sharply  that  I  had  no  need  whatever  of  her  services. 

She  departed. 

A  week  or  two  passed  away.  It  was  evening.  I  was 
sitting  at  my  window  whistling  and  thinking  of  some 
expedient  for  enabling  me  to  get  away  from  myself. 
I  was  bored,  the  weather  was  dirty.  I  didn't  want  to 
go  out,  and  out  of  sheer  ennui  I  began  a  course  of 
self-analysis  and  reflection.  This  also  was  dull  enough' 
work,  but  I  didn't  care  about  doing  anything  else. 
Then  the  door  opened.  Heaven  be  praised,  someone 
came  in. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Student,  you  have  no  pressing  business, 
I  hope?" 

It  was  Teresa.    Humph! 

"No.     What  is  it?" 

"  I  was  going  to  ask  you,  sir,  to  write  me  another 
letter." 

"  Very  well !     To  Boles,  eh?  " 

"  No,  this  time  it  is  from  him." 

"Wha-at?" 

"  Stupid  that  I  am !  It  is  not  for  me,  Mr.  Student, 
I  beg  your  pardon.  It  is  for  a  friend  of  mine,  that  is  to 


1 90  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

say,  not  a  friend  but  an  acquaintance — a  man  acquaint- 
ance. He  has  a  sweetheart  just  like  me  here,  Teresa. 
That's  how  it  is.  Will  you,  sir,  write  a  letter  to  this 
Teresa?  " 

I  looked  at  her — her  face  was  troubled,  her  fingers 
were  trembling.  I  was  a  bit  fogged  at  first — and  then 
I  guessed  how  it  was. 

"  Look  here,  my  lady,"  I  said,  "  there  are  no  Boleses 
or  Teresas  at  all,  and  you've  been  telling  me  a  pack 
of  lies.  Don't  you  come  sneaking  about  me  any 
longer.  I  have  no  wish  whatever  to  cultivate  your 
acquaintance.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

And  suddenly  she  grew  strangely  terrified  and  dis- 
traught ;  she  began  to  shift  from  foot  to  foot  without 
moving  from  the  place,  ano\  spluttered  comically,  as 
if  she  wanted  to  say  something  and  couldn't.  I  waited 
to  see  what  would  come  of  all  this,  and  I  saw  and  felt 
that,  apparently,  I  had  made  a  great  mistake  in 
suspecting  her  of  wishing  to  draw  me  from  the  path  of 
righteousness.  It  was  evidently  something  very 
different. 

"  Mr  Student !  "  she  began,  and  suddenly,  waving 
her  hand,  she  turned  abruptly  towards  the  door  and 
went  out.  I  remained  with  a  very  unpleasant  feeling 
in  my  mind.  I  listened.  Her  door  was  flung  violently 
to — plainly  the  poor  wench  was  very  angry.  .  .  I 
thought  it  over,  and  resolved  to  go  to  her,  and,  in- 
viting her  to  come  in  here,  write  everything  she  wanted. 

I  entered  her  apartment.      I  looked  round.      She 


HER  LOVER.  i9i 

was  sitting  at  the  table,  leaning  on  her  elbows,  with 
her  head  in  her  hands. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  I  said. 

Now,  whenever  I  come  to  this  point  in  my  storyv 
I  always  feel  horribly  awkward  and  idiotic.  Well, 
well! 

"  Listen  to  me,"  I  said. 

She  leaped  from  her  seat,  came  towards  me  with 
flashing  eyes,  and  laying  her  hands  on  my  shoulders, 
began  to  whisper,  or  rather  to  hum  in  her  peculiar- 
bass  voice : 

"  Look  you,  now !  It's  like  this.  There's  no  Boles, 
at  all,  and  there's  no  Teresa  either.  But  what's  that; 
to  you  ?  Is  it  a  hard  thing  for  you  to  draw  your  pen 
over  paper  ?  Eh  ?  Ah,  and  you,  too !  Still  such  a 
little  fair-haired  boy!  There's  nobody  at  all,  neither- 
Boles,  nor  Teresa,  only  me.  There  you  have  it,  and 
much  good  may  it  do  you !  " 

"  Pardon  me !  "  said  I,  altogether  flabbergasted  by- 
such  a  reception,  "what  is  it  all  about?  There's  no> 
Boles,  you  say  ?  " 

"  No.     So  it  is." 

"  And  no  Teresa  either?  " 

"And  no  Teresa.     I'm  Teresa." 

I  didn't  understand  it  at  all.  I  fixed  my  eyes  uport 
her,  and  tried  to  make  out  which  of  us  was  taking  leave 
of  his  or  her  senses.  But  she  went  again  to  the  table, 
searched  about  for  something,  came  back  to  me,  and 
said  in  an  offended  tone : 


192  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"  If  it  was  so  hard  for  you  to  write  to  Boles,  look, 
there's  your  letter,  take  it !  Others  will  write  for  me." 

I  looked  In  her  hand  was  my  letter  to  Bole's. 
Phew! 

"  Listen,  Teresa !  What  is  the  meaning  of  all 
this  ?  Why  must  you  get  others  to  write  for  you  when 
I  have  already  written  it,  and  you  haven't  sent  it." 

"Sent  it  where?" 

"Why,  to  this— Boles." 
^  "  There's  no  such  person." 

I  absolutely  did  not  understand  it.  There  was 
nothing  for  me  but  to  spit  and  go.  Then  she  ex- 
plained. 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  said,  still  offended.  "  There's  no 
such  person,  I  tell  you,"  and  she  extended  her  arms 
as  if  she  herself  did  not  understand  why  there  should 
be  no  such  person.  "  But  I  wanted  him  to  be  .  .  . 
Am  I  then  not  a  human  creature  like  the  rest  of  them  ? 
Yes,  yes,  I  know,  I  know,  of  course.  .  .  Yet  no 
harm  was  done  to  anyone  by  my  writing  to  him  that 
I  can  see.  .  ." 

"Pardon  me — to  whom?" 

"  To  Boles,  of  course." 

"  But  he  doesn't  exist" 

"  Alas !  alas !  But  what  if  he  doesn't  ?  He  doesn't 
exist,  but  he  might!  I  write  to  him,  and  it  looks 
as  if  he  did  exist.  And  Teresa — that's  me,  and  he 
replies  to  me,  and  then  I  write  to  him  again.  .  ." 

I    understood    at   last     And    I    felt    so   sick,    so 


HER  LOVER.  193 

miserable,  so  ashamed,  somehow.  Alongside  of  me, 
not  three  yards  away,  lived  a  human  creature  who  had 
nobody  in  the  world  to  treat  her  kindly,  affectionately, 
and  this  human  being  had  invented  a  friend  for  herself  1 

"  Look,  now !  you  wrote  me  a  letter  to  Boles,  and  I 
gave  it  to  someone  else  to  read  it  to  me ;  and  when 
they  read  it  to  me  I  listened  and  fancied  that  Boles  was 
there.  And  I  asked  you  to  write  me  a  letter  from 
Boles  to  Teresa — that  is  to  me.  When  they  write 
such  a  letter  for  me,  and  read  it  to  me,  I  feel  quite  sure 
that  Boles  is  there.  And  life  grows  easier  for  me  in 
consequence." 

"  Deuce  take  thee  for  a  blockhead ! "  said  I  to 
myself  when  I  heard  this. 

And  from  thenceforth,  regularly,  twice  a  week,  I 
wrote  a  letter  to  Boles,  and  an  answer  from  Boles  to 
Teresa.  I  wrote  those  answers  well.  .  .  'She,  of 
course,  listened  to  them,  and  wept  like  anything, 
roared,  I  should  say,  with  her  bass  voice.  And  in 
return  for  my  thus  moving  her  to  tears  by  real  letters 
from  the  imaginary  Boles,  she  began  to  mend  the  holes 
I  had  in  my  socks,  shirts,  and  other  articles  of  clothing. 
Subsequently,  about  three  months  after  this  history 
began,  they  put  her  in  prison  for  something  or  other. 
No  doubt  by  this  time  she  is  dead. 

My  acquaintance  shook  the  ash  from  his  cigarette, 
looked  pensively  up  at  the  sky,  and  thus  concluded : 

Well,  well,  the  more  a  human  creature  has  tasted 
of  better  things  the  more  it  hungers  after  the  sweet 

N 


i94  TALES   FROM    GORKY. 

things  of  life.  And  we,  wrapped  round  in  the  rags  of 
our  virtues,  and  regarding  others  through  the  mist  of 
our  self-sufficiency,  and  persuaded  of  our  universal 
impeccability,  do  not  understand  this. 

And  the  whole  thing  turns  out  pretty  stupidly — and 
very  cruelly.  The  fallen  classes,  we  say.  And  who 
are  the  fallen  classes,  I  should  like  to  know?  They 
are,  first  of  all,  people  with  the  same  bones,  flesh,  and 
blood  and  nerves  as  ourselves.  We  have  been  told 
this  day  after  day  for  ages.  And  we  actually  listen — 
and  the  Devil  only  knows  how  hideous  the  whole  thing 
is.  Or  are  we  completely  depraved  by  the  loud 
sermonizing  of  humanism?  In  reality,  we  also  are 
fallen  folks,  and  so  far  as  I  can  see,  very  deeply  fallen 
into  the  abyss  of  self-sufficiency  and  the  conviction 
of  our  own  superiority.  But  enough  of  this.  It  is 
all  as  old  as  the  hills — so  old  that  it  is  a  shame  to  speak 
of  it  Very  old  indeed — yes,  that's  where  it  is ! 


VIII.— CHELKASH. 

THE  blue  southern  sky  was  bedimmed  by  the  dust 
rising  from  the  haven  ;  the  burning  sun  looked  dully 
down  into  the  greenish  sea  as  if  through  a  thin  grey 
veil.  It  could  not  reflect  itself  in  the  water,  which  in- 
deed was  cut  up  by  the  strokes  of  oars  and  the  furrows 
made  by  steam-screws  and  the  sharp  keels  of  Turkish 
feluccas  and  other  sailing  vessels,  ploughing  up  in  every 
direction  the  crowded  harbour  in  which  the  free  billows 
of  the  sea  were  confined  within  fetters  of  granite  and 
crushed  beneath  the  huge  weights  gliding  over  their 
crests,  though  they  beat  against  the  sides  of  the  ships, 
beat  against  the  shore,  beat  themselves  into  raging 
foam — foam  begrimed  by  all  sorts  of  floating  rubbish. 
The  sound  of  the  anchor  chains,  the  clang  of  the 
couplings  of  the  trucks  laden  with  heavy  goods,  the 
metallic  wail  of  the  iron  plates  falling  on  the  stone 
flagging,  the  dull  thud  of  timber,  the  droning  of  the 
carrier-wagons,  the  screaming  of  the  sirens  of  the 
steamships,  now  piercingly  keen,  now  sinking  to  a 
dull  roar,  the  cries  of  the  porters,  sailors,  and  custom- 
house officers — all  these  sounds  blended  into  the  deaf- 
ening symphony  of  the  laborious  day,  and  vibrating 


196  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

restlessly,  remained  stationary  in  the  sky  over  the 
haven,  as  if  fearing  to  mount  higher  and  disappear. 
And  there  ascended  from  the  earth,  continually,  fresh 
and  ever  fresh  waves  of  sound — some  dull  and  mys- 
terious, and  these  vibrated  sullenly  all  around,  others 
clangorous  and  piercing  which  rent  the  dusty  sultry  air. 

Granite,  iron,  the  stone  haven,  the  vessels  and  the 
people — everything  is  uttering  in  mighty  tones  a 
madly  passionate  hymn  to  Mercury.  But  the  voices 
of  the  people,  weak  and  overborne,  are  scarce  audible 
therein.  And  the  people  themselves  to  whom  all  this 
hubbub  is  primarily  due,  are  ridiculous  and  pitiful. 
Their  little  figures,  dusty,  strenuous,  wriggling  into 
and  out  of  sight,  bent  double  beneath  the  burden  of 
heavy  goods  lying  on  their  shoulders,  beneath  the 
burden  of  the  labour  of  dragging  these  loads  hither 
and  thither  in  clouds  of  dust,  in  a  sea  of  heat  and 
racket — are  so  tiny  and  insignificant  in  comparison 
with  the  iron  colossi  surrounding  them,  in  comparison 
with  the  loads  of  goods,  the  rumbling  wagons,  and 
all  the  other  things  which  these  same  little  creatures 
have  made !  Their  own  handiwork  has  subjugated 
and  degraded  them. 

Standing  by  the  quays,  heavy  giant  steamships  are 
now  whistling,  now  hissing,  now  deeply  snorting,  and 
in  every  sound  given  forth  by  them  there  seems  to  be 
a  note  of  ironical  contempt  for  the  grey,  dusty  little 
figures  of  the  people  crowding  about  on  the  decks, 
and  filling  the  deep  holds  with  the  products  of  their 


CHELKASH.  197 

slavish  labour.  Laughable  even  to  tears  are  the  long 
strings  of  dockyard  men,  dragging  after  them  tens  of 
thousands  of  pounds  of  bread  and  pitching  them 
into  the  iron  bellies  of  the  vessels  in  order  to  earn  a 
few  pounds  of  that  very  same  bread  for  their  own 
stomachs — people,  unfortunately,  not  made  of  iron 
and  feeling  the  pangs  of  hunger.  These  hustled, 
sweated  crowds,  stupefied  by  weariness  and  by  the 
racket  and  heat,  and  these  powerful  machines,  made 
by  these  selfsame  people,  basking,  sleek  and  unruffled, 
in  the  sunshine — machines  which,  in  the  first  instance, 
are  set  in  motion  not  by  steam,  but  by  the  muscles 
and  blood  of  their  makers — in  such  a  juxtaposition 
there  was  a  whole  epic  of  cold  and  cruel  irony. 

The  din  is  overwhelming,  the  dust  irritates  the 
nostrils  and  blinds  the  eyes,  the  heat  burns  and 
exhausts  the  body,  and  everything  around — the 
buildings,  the  people,  the  stone  quays — seem  to  be  on 
the  stretch,  full-ripe,  ready  to  burst,  ready  to  lose  all 
patience  and  explode  in  some  grandiose  catastrophe, 
like  a  volcano,  and  thus  one  feels  that  one  would  be 
able  to  breathe  more  easily  and  freely  in  the  refresh- 
ened air ;  one  feels  that  then  a  stillness  would  reign 
upon  the  earth,  and  this  dusty  din,  benumbing  and 
irritating  the  nerves  to  the  verge  of  melancholy 
mania,  would  vanish,  and  in  the  town,  and  on  the  sea, 
and  in  the  sky,  everything  would  be  calm,  clear,  and 
glorious.  But  it  only  seems  so.  One  fancies  it  must 
be  so,  because  man  has  not  yet  wearied  of  hoping  for 


198  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

better  things,  and  the  wish  to  feel  himself  free  has  not 
altogether  died  away  within  him. 

Twelve  measured  and  sonorous  strokes  of  a  bell 
resound.  When  the  last  brazen  note  has  died  away 
the  wild  music  of  labour  has  already  diminished  by 
at  least  a  half.  Another  minute  and  it  has  passed  into  a 
dull  involuntary  murmur.  The  voices  of  men  and  the 
splashing  of  the  sea  have  now  become  more  audible. 
The  dinner-hour  has  come. 

I. 

When  the  dock-hands,  leaving  off  work,  scatter 
along  the  haven  in  noisy  groups,  buying  something 
to  eat  from  the  costermonger  women  and  sitting  down 
to  their  meal  in  the  most  shady  corners  of  the 
macadamized  quay,  amidst  them  appears  Greg 
Chelkash,  that  old  wolf  of  the  pastures,  well-known  to 
the  people  of  the  haven  as  a  confirmed  toper  and  a 
bold  and  skilful  thief.  He  is  barefooted,  in  shabby 
old  plush  breeches,  hatless,  with  a  dirty  cotton  shirt 
with  a  torn  collar,  exposing  his  mobile,  withered, 
knobbly  legs  in  their  cinnamon-brown  case  of  skin. 
It  is  plain  from  his  touzled  black,  grey-streaked  hair 
and  his  keen  wizened  face  that  he  has  only  just  awoke. 
From  one  of  his  smutty  moustaches  a  wisp  of  straw 
sticks  out,  the  fellow  to  it  has  lost  itself  among  the 
bristles  of  his  recently  shaved  left  cheek,  and  behind 
his  ear  he  has  stuck  a  tiny  linden  twig  just  plucked 


CHELKASH.  199 

from  the  tree.  Lanky,  bony,  and  somewhat  crooked, 
he  slowly  shambled  along  the  stones,  and  moving 
from  side  to  side  his  hooked  nose,  which  resembled 
the  beak  of  a  bird  of  prey,  he  cast  around  him  sharp 
glances,  twinkling  at  the  same  time  his  cold  grey  eyes 
as  they  searched  for  someone  or  other  among  the 
dockyard  men.  "His  dirty  brown  moustaches,  long 
and  thick,  twitched  just  like  a  cat's  whiskers,  and  his 
arms,  folded  behind  his  back,  rubbed  one  against  the 
other,  while  the  long,  crooked,  hook-like  fingers 
clutched  at  the  air  convulsively.  Even  here,  in  the 
midst  of  a  hundred  such  ragged  striking  tatter- 
demalions as  he,  he  immediately  attracted  attention 
by  his  resemblance  to  the  vulture  of  the  steppes,  by 
his  bird-of-prey  like  haggardness,  and  that  alert  sort 
of  gait,  easy  and  quiet  in  appearance,  but  inwardly 
the  result  of  excited  wariness,  like  the  flight  of  the 
bird  of  prey  he  called  to  mind. 

When  he  came  alongside  one  of  the  groups  of 
ragged  porters  sprawling  in  the  shade  beneath  the 
shelter  of  the  coal  baskets,  he  suddenly  encountered 
a  broad-shouldered  little  fellow  with  a  stupid  pimply 
face  and  a  neck  scarred  with  scratches,  evidently 
fresh  from  a  sound  and  quite  recent  drubbing.  He 
got  up  and  joined  Chelkash,  saying  to  him  in  a 
subdued  voice : 

"  Goods  belonging  to  the  fleet  have  been  missed 
in  two  places.  They  are  searching  for  them  still. 
Do  you  hear,  Greg !  " 


200  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"  Well ! "  asked  Chelkash  quietly,  calmly  measuring 
his  comrade  from  head  to  foot. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  well  ?  They're  searching 
I  say,  that's  all." 

"  Are  they  asking  me  to  help  them  in  their  search 
then?" 

And  Chelkash,  with  a  shrewd  smile,  glanced  in  the 
direction  of  the  lofty  packhouse  of  the  Volunteer 
Fleet. 

"  Go  to  the  devil ! " 

His  comrade  turned  back. 

"  Wait  a  bit !  What  are  you  so  stuck-up  about  ? 
Look  how  they've  spoiled  the  whole  show  !  I  don't 
see  Mike  here  ! " 

"  Haven't  seen  him  for  a  long  time,"  said  the  other, 
going  back  to  his  companions. 

Chelkash  went  on  further,  greeted  by  everyone  like 
a  man  well-known.  And  he,  always  merry  with  a 
biting  repartee,  to-day  was  evidently  not  in  a  good 
humour,  and  gave  abrupt  and  snappy  answers. 

At  one  point  a  custom-house  officer,  a  dusty,  dark- 
green  man  with  the  upright  carriage  of  a  soldier, 
emerged  from  behind  a  pile  of  goods.  He  barred 
Chelkash's  way,  standing  in  front  of  him  with  a 
challenging  pose  and  seizing  with  his  left  hand  the 
handle  of  his  dirk,  tried  to  collar  Chelkash  with  his 
right 

"  Halt !  whither  are  you  going  ?  " 

Chelkash  took  a  step  backwards,  raised  his  eyes  to 


CHELKASH.  201 

the  level  of  the  custom-house  officer,  and  smiled 
drily. 

The  ruddy,  good-humouredly-cunning  face  of  the 
official  tried  to  assume  a  threatening  look,  puffing  out 
its  cheeks  till  they  were  round  and  bloated,  contract- 
ing its  brows  and  goggling  its  eyes — and  was 
supremely  ridiculous  in  consequence. 

"  You  have  been  told  that  you  are  not  to  dare  to 
enter  the  haven,  or  I'd  break  your  ribs  for  you.  And 
here  you  are  again  ! "  cried  the  guardian  of  the  customs 
threateningly. 

"  Good  day,  Semenich !  we  have  not  seen  each 
other  for  a  long  time,"  calmly  replied  Chelkash, 
stretching  out  his  hand. 

"  I  wish  it  had  been  a  whole  century.  Be  off! 
Be  off!" 

But  Semenich  pressed  the  extended  hand  all  the 
same. 

"  What  a  thing  to  say  !"  continued  Chelkash,  still 
retaining  in  his  talon-like  fingers  the  hand  of 
Semenich,  and  shaking  it  in  a  friendly  familiar  sort 
of  way — "  have  you  seen  Mike  by  any  chance?  " 

"  Mike,  Mike  ?  whom  do  you  mean  ?  I  don't 
know  any  Mike.  Go  away,  my  friend  !  That  pack- 
house  officer  is  looking,  he  .  .  ." 

"  The  red-haired  chap,  I  mean,  with  whom  I  worked 
last  time  on  board  the  'Kostroma,'"  persisted 
Chelkash. 

"With   whom    you    pilfered,  you  ought  to    say. 


202  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

They've  carried  your  Mike  off  to  the  hospital  if  you 
must  know ;  he  injured  his  leg  with  a  bit  of  iron.  Go, 
ray  friend,  while  you  are  asked  to  go  civilly  ;  go,  and 
I'll  soon  saddle  you  with  him  again  !  " 

"  Ah !  look  there  now !  and  you  said  you  did  not 
know  Mike  !  Tell  me  now,  Semenich,  why  are  you 
so  angry?" 

"  Look  here,  Greg  !  none  of  your  cheek  !  be  off !  " 

The  custom-house  officer  began  to  be  angry,  and 
glancing  furtively  around  him,  tried  to  tear  his  hand 
out  of  the  powerful  hand  of  Chelkash.  Chelkash 
regarded  him  calmly  from  under  his  bushy  brows, 
smiled  to  himself,  and  not  releasing  his  hand, 
continued  to  speak  : 

"  Don't  hurry  me !  I'll  have  my  say  with  you  and 
then  I'll  go.  Now  tell  me,  how  are  you  getting  on  ? — 
you  wife,  your  children,  are  they  well  ?  " — and,  twink- 
ling his  eyes  maliciously  and  biting  his  lips,  with  a 
mocking  smile,  he  added  :  "  I  was  going  to  pay  you 
a  visit,  but  I  never  had  the  time — I  was  always  on  the 
booze  ..." 

"  Well,  well,  drop  that ! — none  of  your  larks,  you 
bony  devil ! — I'm  really  your  friend  ...  I  suppose 
you're  laying  yourself  out  to  nab  something  under 
cover  or  in  the  streets  ?  " 

"Why  so?  Here  and  now  I  tell  you  a  good 
time's  coming  for  both  you  and  me,  if  only  we 
lay  hold  of  a  bit  In  God's  name,  Semenich, 
lay  hold  !  Listen  now,  again  in  two  places  goods  are 


CHELKASH.  203 

missing  !  Look  out  now,  Semenich,  and  be  very 
cautious  lest  you  come  upon  them  somehow ! " 

Utterly  confused  by  the  audacity  of  Chelkash, 
Semenich  trembled  all  over,  spat  freely  about  him, 
and  tried  to  say  something.  Chelkash  let  go  his 
hand  and  calmly  shuffled  back  to  the  dock  gates  with 
long  strides,  the  custom-house  officer,  cursing  fiercely, 
moved  after  him. 

Chelkash  was  now  in  a  merry  mood.  He  softly 
whistled  through  his  teeth,  and  burying  his  hands 
into  his  breeches'  pockets,  marched  along  with  the 
easy  gait  of  a  free  man,  distributing  sundry  jests 
and  repartees  right  and  left.  And  the  people  he  left 
behind  paid  him  out  in  his  own  coin  as  he  passed  by. 

"  Hello,  Chelkash  !  how  well  the  authorities  mount 
guard  over  you ! "  howled  someone  from  among  the 
group  of  dock-workers  who  had  already  dined  and 
were  resting  at  full  length  on  the  ground. 

"  I'm  barefooted  you  see,  so  Semenich  follows 
behind  so  as  not  to  tread  upon  my  toes — he  might 
hurt  me  and  lay  me  up  for  a  bit,"  replied  Chelkash. 

They  reached  the  gates,  two  soldiers  searched 
Chelkash  and  hustled  him  gently  into  the  street. 

"  Don't  let  him  go  !  "  bawled  Semenich,  stopping 
at  the  dockyard  gate. 

Chelkash  crossed  the  road  and  sat  down  on  a  post 
opposite  the  door  of  a  pot-house.  Out  of  the  dock- 
yard gates,  lowing  as  they  went,  proceeded  an  endless 
string  of  laden  oxen,  meeting  the  returning  teams  of 


204  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

unladen  oxen  with  their  drivers  mounted  upon  them. 
The  haven  vomited  forth  thunderous  noise  and  sting- 
ing dust,  and  the  ground  trembled, 

Inured  to  this  frantic  hurly-burly,  Chelkash,  stimu- 
lated by  the  scene  with  Semenich,  felt  in  the  best  of 
spirits.  Before  him  smiled  a  solid  piece  of  work, 
demanding  not  very  much  labour  but  a  good  deal  of 
cunning.  He  was  convinced  that  he  would  be  equal 
to  it,  and  blinking  his  eyes,  fell  thinking  how  he 
would  lord  it  to-morrow  morning,  when  the  whole 
thing  would  have  been  managed  and  the  bank-notes 
would  be  in  his  pocket  Then  he  called  to  mind  his 
comrade  Mike,  who  would  have  just  done  for  this 
night's  job  if  he  had  not  broken  his  leg.  Chelkash 
cursed  inwardly  that,  without  Mike's  help,  it  would  be 
a  pretty  stiffish  job  for  him  alone.  What  sort  of  a 
night  was  it  going  to  be  ?  He  looked  up  at  the  sky 
and  then  all  down  the  street.  .  . 

Six  paces  away  from  him  on  the  macadamized 
pavement,  with  his  back  against  a  post,  sat  a  young 
lad  in  a  blue  striped  shirt,  hose  to  match,  with  bast 
shoes  and  a  ragged  red  forage  cap.  Near  him  lay  a 
small  knapsack  and  a  scythe  without  a  handle  wrapped 
up  in  straw  carefully  wound  round  with  cord.  The 
lad  was  broad-shouldered,  sturdy,  and  fair-haired, 
with  a  tanned  and  weather-beaten  face,  and  with 
large  blue  eyes  gazing  at  Chelkash  confidingly  and 
good-naturedly.  .  i 

Chelkash  ground  his  teeth,  protruded  his  tongue, 


CHELKASH.  205 

and  making  a  frightful  grimace,  set  himself  to  gaze 
fixedly  at  the  youth  with  goggling  eyes. 

The  youth,  doubtful,  at  first,  what  to  make  of  it, 
blinked  a  good  deal,  but  suddenly  bursting  into  a  fit 
of  laughter,  screamed  in  the  midst  of  his  laughter  i 
"  Ah,  what  a  character  !  "  and  scarce  rising  from  the 
ground,  rolled  clumsily  from  his  own  to  Chelkash's 
post,  dragging  his  knapsack  along  through  the  dust 
and  striking  the  blade  of  the  scythe  against  a  stone. 

"What,  brother,  enjoying  yourself,  eh?  Good 
health  to  you  !  "  said  he  to  Chelkash,  plucking  his 
trouser. 

"  There's  a  job  on  hand,  my  sucking  pig,  and  such 
a  job!"  confessed  Chelkash  openly.  He  liked  the 
look  of  this  wholesome,  good-natured  lad  with  the 
childish  blue  eyes.  "  Been  a  mowing,  eh  ?  " 

"  Pretty  mowing !  Mow  a  furlong  and  earn  a 
farthing !  Bad  business  that !  The  very  hungriest 
come  crowding  in,  and  they  lower  wages  though 
they  don't  gain  any.  They  pay  six  griveniki*  in- 
the  Kuban  here — a  pretty  wage  !  Formerly  they 
paid,  people  say,  three  silver  roubles,  four,  nay  five  ! " 

"  Formerly ! — Ah,  formerly,  at  the  mere  sight  of 
a  Russian  man  they  paid  up  splendidly  there.  I 
worked  at  the  same  job  myself  ten  years  ago.  You 
went  up  to  the  cossack  station — here  am  I,  a  Russian  f 


*  A  grivenik  is  a  10  kopeck  piece  =  ^jth  of  a  silver  rouble.     A. 
silver  rouble  =  2s. 


206  TALES   FROM    GORKY. 

you  said,  and  immediately  they  looked  at  you,  felt 
you,  marvelled  at  you,  and — three  roubles  down  into 
your  palm  straightway !  Those  were  the  days  for  eat- 
ing and  drinking.  And  you  lived  pretty  much  as  you 
liked." 

The  lad  listened  to  Chelkash  at  first  with  wide- 
open  mouth,  with  puzzled  rapture  writ  large  on  his 
rotund  physiognomy  ;  but,  presently,  understanding 
that  this  ragamuffin  was  joking,  he  closed  his  lips 
with  a  snap  and  laughed  aloud.  Chelkash  preserved 
a  serious  countenance,  concealing  his  smile  in  his 
moustaches. 

"  Rum  card  that  you  are !  you  spoke  as  if  it  were 
true,  and  I  listened  and  believed  you.  Now,  God 
knows,  formerly  .  .  ." 

"  But  I  count  for  something,  don't  I  ?  I  tell  you 
that  formerly  .  .  ." 

"  Go  along !  "  said  the  lad,  waving  his  hand.  "  I 
suppose  you're  a  cobbler  ? — or  are  you  a  tailor  ? 
What  are  you  ?  " 

"  What  am  I  ? "  repeated  Chelkash,  reflecting  a 
little — "  I'm  a  fisherman  1 "  he  said  at  last 

"  A  fisherman  !  really  ? — you  really  catch  fish  ? " 

"  Why  fish  ?  The  fishermen  here  don't  only  catch 
fish.  There's  more  than  that  There  are  drowned 
corpses,  old  anchors,  sunken  ships — everything ! 
There  are  hooks  for  fishing  up  all  sorts  .  .  ." 

"  Nonsense,  nonsense !  I  suppose  you  mean  the 
sort  of  fishermen  who  sang  of  themselves  : 


CHELKASH.  207 

" '  Our  nets  we  cast  forth  abroad 
On  the  river  bank  so  high, 
And  in  storehouse  and  grain  loft  so  high  .  .  .'  " 

"And  you  have  seen  such  like,  eh?"  inquired 
Chelkash,  looking  at  him  with  a  smile  and  thinking 
to  himself  that  this  fine  young  chap  was  really  very 
stupid. 

"  No,  where  could  I  see  them  ?  But  I've  heard  of 
them  .  .  ." 

"  Like  the  life,  eh  ?  " 

"  Like  their  life  ?  Well,  how  shall  I  put  it  ?— they 
are  not  bothered  with  kids  .  .  .  they  live  as  they 
like  .  .  .  they  are  free  .  .  ." 

"  What  do  you  know  about  freedom  ?  Do  you 
love  it  ?  " 

"  Why  of  course.  To  be  your  own  master  .  .  . 
to  go  where  you  like  ...  to  do  what  you  like.  Still 
more,  if  you  know  how  to  keep  straight,  and  have  no 
stone  about  your  neck  .  .  .  then  it's  splendid  !  You 
may  enjoy  yourself  as  you  like,  if  only  you  don't 
forget  God  .  .  ." 

Chelkash  spat  contemptuously,  ceased  from  ques- 
tioning, and  turned  away  from  the  youth. 

"  I'll  tell  you  my  story,"  said  the  other  with  a 
sudden  burst  of  confidence.  "  When  my  father  died 
he  left  but  little,  my  mother  was  old,  the  land  was  all 
ploughed  to  death,  what  was  I  to  do  ?  Live  I  must— 
but  how  ?  I  didn't  know.  I  went  to  my  wife's 


2o8  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

relations — a  good  house.  Very  well !  '  Will  you  give 
your  daughter  her  portion  ? '  But  no,  my  devil  of 
a  father-in-law  would  not  shell  out.  I  was  worrying 
him  a  long  time  about  it — a  whole  year.  What  a 
business  it  was !  And  if  I  had  had  a  hundred  and 
fifty  roubles  in  hand  I  could  have  paid  off  the  Jew 
Antipas  and  stood  on  my  legs  again.  '  Will  you  give 
Marfa  her  portion  ? '  I  said.  '  No  ?  Very  well ! 
Thank  God  she  is  not  the  only  girl  in  the  village.'  I 
wanted  to  let  him  know  that  I  would  be  my  own 
master  and  quite  free.  Heigh-ho ! "  And  the  young 
fellow  sighed.  "  And  now  there  is  nothing  for  it  but 
to  go  to  my  relations  after  all.  I  had  thought :  look 
now!  I'll  go  to  the  Kuban  District.  I'll  scrape 
together  two  hundred  roubles — and  then  I  shall  be  a 
gentleman  at  large.  But  it  was  only  so-so !  It  all 
ended  in  smoke.  Now  you'll  have  to  go  back  to 
your  relations,  I  said  to  myself  ...  as  a  day- 
labourer.  I'm  not  fit  to  be  my  own  master — no,  I'm 
quite  unfit.  Alas!  Alas!" 

The  young  fellow  had  a  violent  disinclination  to 
go  to  his  relatives.  Even  his  cheerful  face  grew  dark 
and  made  itself  miserable.  He  shifted  heavily  about 
on  the  ground,  and  drew  Chelkash  out  of  the  reverie 
in  which  he  had  plunged  while  the  other  was  talking. 

Chelkash  also  began  to  feel  that  the  conversation 
was  boring  him,  yet,  for  all  that,  he  asked  a  few  more 
questions  : 

"  And  now  where  are  you  going  ?  " 


CHELKASH.  209 

"  Where  am  I  going  ?    Why,  home  of  course." 

"  My  friend,  it  is  not '  of  course '  to  me.  You  might 
be  going  to  kick  up  your  heels  in  Turkey  for  ought  I 
know." 

"In  'Tur-tur-key  ?  "  stammered  the  youth.  "  Who 
of  all  the  Orthodox  would  think  of  going 
there  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  you're  a  fool ! "  sighed  Chelkash, 
and  again  he  turned  away  from  the  speaker,  and  this 
time  he  felt  an  utter  disinclination  to  waste  another 
word  upon  him.  There  was  something  in  this  healthy 
country  lad  which  revolted  him. 

A  troublesome,  slowly  ripening  irritating  feeling 
was  stirring  somewhere  deep  within  him,  and  pre- 
vented him  from  concentrating  his  attention  and 
meditating  on  all  that  had  to  be  done  that  night. 

The  snubbed  young  rustic  kept  murmuring  to 
himself  in  a  low  voice,  now  and  then  glancing 
furtively  at  the  vagabond.  His  cheeks  were  absurdly 
chubby,  his  lips  were  parted,  and  his  lackadaisical 
eyes  blinked  ridiculously  and  preposterously  often. 
Evidently  he  had  never  expected  that  his  conver- 
sation with  this  moustached  ragamuffin  would  have 
been  terminated  so  quickly  and  so  offensively. 

The  ragamuffin  no  longer  paid  him  the  slightest 
attention.  He  was  whistling  reflectively  as  he  sat  on 
the  post  and  beating  time  with  his  naked  dirty  paw. 

The  rustic  wanted  to  be  quits  with  him. 

"  I  say,  fisherman,  do  you  often  get  drunk  ?  " — he 

o 


2io  TALES   FROM    GORKY. 

was  beginning,  when  the  same  instant  the  fisherman 
turned  round  quickly  face  to  face  with  him  and 
asked  : 

"  Hark  ye,  babby !  Will  you  work  with  me  to- 
night ?  Come  ! — yes  or  no  ?  " 

"  Work  at  what  ?  "  inquired  the  rustic  suspiciously. 

"  At  whatever  work  I  give  you.  We'll  go  a  fishing. 
You'll  have  to  row  ..." 

"Oh!  ...  All  right!  ...  No  matter.  I  can 
work.  Only  don't  let  me  in  for  something  .  .  . 
You're  so  frightfully  double-tongued  .  .  .  you're  a 
dark  horse  ..." 

Chelkash  began  to  feel  something  of  the  nature  of 
a  gangrened  wound  in  his  breast,  and  murmured  with 
cold  maliciousness : 

"  No  blabbing,  whatever  you  may  think.  Look 
now,  I've  a  good  mind  to  knock  your  blockhead  about 
till  I  drive  some  light  into  it." 

He  leaped  from  his  post,  and  while  his  left  hand 
still  twirled  his  moustache,  he  clenched  his  right  into 
a  muscular  fist  as  hard  as  iron,  while  his  eyes  flashed 
and  sparkled. 

The  rustic  was  terrified.  He  quickly  looked  about 
him,  and  timidly  blinking  his  eyes,  also  leapt  from  the 
ground.  They  both  stood  there  regarding  each  other 
in  silence. 

"Well?"  inquired  Chelkash  sullenly,  he  was  boil- 
ing over  and  tremulous  at  the  insult  received  from 
this  young  bull-calf,  whom  during  the  whole  course  of 


CHELKASH.  211 

their  conversation  he  had  despised,  but  whom  he  now 
thoroughly  hated  because  he  had  such  clear  blue  eyes, 
such  a  healthy  sun-burnt  face,  such  short  strong 
arms.  He  hated  him,  moreover,  because,  somewhere 
or  other,  he  had  his  native  village,  and  a  house  in  it, 
and  because  he  numbered  among  his  relatives  a  well- 
to-do  peasant  farmer ;  he  hated  him  for  all  his  past 
life  and  all  his  life  to  come,  and,  more  than  all  this, 
he  hated  him  because  this  creature,  a  mere  child  in 
comparison  with  himself,  Chelkash,  dared  to  love 
freedom,  whose  value  he  knew  not,  and  which  was 
quite  unnecessary  to  him.  It  is  always  unpleasant  to 
see  a  man  whom  you  regard  as  worse  and  lower  than 
yourself,  love  or  hate  the  same  thing  as  you  do,  and 
thus  become  like  unto  yourself. 

The  rustic  looked  at  Chelkash,  and  felt  that  in  him 
he  had  found  his  master. 

"  Well  ..."  he  began,  "  I  have  nothing  to  say 
against  it,  I  am  glad,  in  fact  .  .  .  You  see  I  am 
out  of  work.  It  is  all  one  to  me  whom  I  work  for, 
for  you  or  another.  I  only  mean  to  say  that  you 
don't  look  like  a  working  man  .  •.  .  you're  so  terribly 
ragged,  you  know.  Well,  I  know  that  may  happen 
to  us  all.  Lord !  the  topers  I've  seen  in  my  time ! 
No  end  to  'em  !  But  I've  never  seen  any  like  you." 

"All  right,  all  right!  It  is  agreed  then,  eh?" 
asked  Chelkash.  His  voice  was  now  a  little  softer. 

"  With  pleasure,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned.  What's 
the  pay  ?  " 


«i2  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"  I  pay  according  to  the  amount  of  work  done,  and 
according  to  the  kind  of  work  too.  It  depends  upon 
the  haul.  You  might  get  a  fifth  part — what  do  you 
say  to  that?" 

But  now  it  was  a  matter  of  money,  and  therefore  the 
peasant  must  needs  be  exact  and  demand  the  same 
exactness  from  his  employer.  The  rustic  had  a  fresh 
access  of  uncertainty  and  suspicion. 

"  Nay,  brother,  '  a  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in 
the  bush '" 

Chelkash  fell  in  with  his  humour. 

"  No  more  gabble !     Wait !  come  to  the  pub ! " 

And  they  walked  along  the  street  side  by  side, 
Chelkash  twisting  his  moustaches  with  the  impu- 
dent air  of  a  master,  the  rustic  with  the  expression 
of  a  complete  readiness  to  buckle  under,  yet  at  the 
same  time  full  of  uneasiness  and  suspicion. 

"  What  do  they  call  you  ?  "  inquired  Chelkash. 

"  Gabriel,"  replied  the  rustic. 

When  they  came  to  the  filthy  and  smoke-black 
inn,  Chelkash,  going  up  to  the  buffet  with  the  familiar 
tone  of  an  old  habitue,  ordered  a  bottle  of  vodka, 
cabbage-soup,  a  roasted  joint,  tea ;  and  totting  up 
the  amount  of  the  items,  curtly  remarked  to  the 
barmaid :  "  All  to  my  account,  eh  ?  "  whereupon  the 
barmaid  nodded  her  head  in  silence.  And  Gabriel 
was  suddenly  filled  with  a  profound  respect  for  his 
master,  who,  notwithstanding  his  hang-dog  look, 
enjoyed  such  notoriety  and  credit. 


CHELKASH. 


213 


"Well,  now  we  can  peck  a  bit,  and  have  a  talk 
comfortably.  You  sit  here.  I'll  be  back  directly." 

Out  he  went.  Gabriel  looked  about  him.  The 
inn  was  on  the  ground-floor,  it  was  damp  and  dark, 
and  full  of  the  stifling  odour  of  distilled  vodka, 
tobacco  smoke,  tar,  and  a  something  else  of  a  pun- 
gent quality.  Opposite  Gabriel,  at  another  table, 
sat  a  drunken  man  in  sailor's  costume,  with  a  red 
beard,  all  covered  with  coal  dust  and  tar.  He  was 
growling,  in  the  midst  of  momentary  hiccoughs,  a 
song,  or  rather  the  fragmentary  and  inconsecutive 
words  of  a  song,  his  voice  now  rising  to  a  frightful 
bellow,  now  sinking  to  a  throaty  gurgle.  He  was 
obviously  not  a  Russian. 

Behind  him  sat  two  young  Moldavian  girls,  ragged, 
dark-haired,  sun-burnt,  also  screeching  some  sort  of  a 
song  with  tipsy  voices. 

Further  back  other  figures  projected  from  the 
surrounding  gloom,  all  of  them  strangely  unkempt, 
half-drunk,  noisy,  and  restless  .  .  . 

Gabriel  felt  uncomfortable  sitting  there  all  alone. 
He  wished  his  master  would  return  sooner.  The  din 
of  the  eating-house  blended  into  a  single  note,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  like  the  roar  of  some  huge  animal.  It 
possessed  a  hundred  different  sorts  of  voices,  and  was 
blindly,  irritably,  soaring  away  out  of  this  stony 
prison,  as  if  it  wanted  to  find  an  outlet  for  its  will 
and  could  not  .  .  .  Gabriel  felt  as  if  something 
bemused  and  oppressive  was  sucking  away  in  his 


214  TALES   FROM    GORKY. 

body,  something  which  made  his  head  swim,  and 
made  his  eyes  grow  dim  as  they  wandered,  curious 
and  terrified,  about  the  eating-house. 

Chelkash  now  arrived,  and  they  began  to  eat  and 
drink  and  converse  at  the  same  time.  At  the  third 
rummer  Gabriel  got  drunk.  He  felt  merry,  and 
wanted  to  say  something  pleasant  to  his  host  who 
— glorious  youth  ! — though  nothing  to  look  at,  was  so 
tastefully  entertaining  him.  But  the  words,  whole 
waves  of  them,  pouring  into  his  very  throat,  for  some 
reason  or  other  wouldn't  leave  his  tongue,  which  had 
suddenly  grown  quite  cumbersome. 

Chelkash  looked  at  him,  and  said  with  a  derisive 
smile :  "  Why,  you're  drunk  already !  What  a 
milksop!  And  only  the  fifth  glass  too!  How  will 
you  manage  to  work  ?  " 

"My  friend,"  lisped  Gabriel,  "never  fear.  I 
respect  you — there  you  are.  Let  me  kiss  you. 
Ah!" 

"  Well,  well — come,  chink  glasses  once  more." 

Gabriel  went  on  drinking,  and  arrived  at  last  at 
that  stage  when  to  his  eyes  everything  began  to 
vibrate  with  a  regular  spontaneous  motion  of  its 
own.  This  was  very  disagreeable,  and  made  him 
feel  unwell.  His  face  assumed  a  foolishly-ecstatic 
expression.  He  tried  to  say  something,  but  only 
made  a  ridiculous  noise  with  his  lips  and  bellowed. 
Chelkash  continued  to  gaze  fixedly  at  him  as  if  he 
was  trying  to  recollect  something,  and  twirled  his 


CHELKASH.  215 

moustaches,  smiling  all  the  time,  but  now  his  smile 
was  grim  and  evil. 

The  eating-house  was  a  babel  of  drunken  voices. 
The  red-haired  sailor  had  gone  to  sleep  with  his 
elbows  resting  on  the  table. 

"Come  now,  let  us  go,"  said  Chelkash,  standing 
up. 

Gabriel  tried  to  rise,  but  could  not,  and  cursing 
loudly,  began  to  laugh  the  senseless  laugh  of  the 
drunkard. 

"  He'll  have  to  be  carried,"  said  Chelkash,  sitting 
down  again  on  the  chair  opposite  his  comrade. 

Gabriel  kept  on  laughing,  and  looked  at  his  host 
with  lack-lustre  eyes.  And  the  latter  regarded  him 
fixedly,  keenly,  and  meditatively.  He  saw  before 
him  a  man  whose  life  had  fallen  into  his  vulpine 
paws.  Chelkash  felt  that  he  could  twist  him  round 
his  little  finger.  He  could  break  him  in  pieces  like 
a  bit  of  cardboard,  or  he  could  make  a  substantial 
peasant  of  him  as  solid  as  a  picture  in  its  frame. 
Feeling  himself  the  other  man's  master,  he  hugged 
himself  with  delight,  and  reflected  that  this  rustic  had 
never  emptied  so  many  glasses  as  Fate  had  permitted 
him,  Chelkash,  to  do.  And  he  had  a  sort  of  indignant 
pity  for  this  young  life ;  he  despised  and  even  felt 
anxious  about  it,  lest  it  should  fall  at  some  other 
time  into  such  hands  as  his.  And  finally,  all 
Chelkash's  feelings  blended  together  into  one  single 
sentiment — into  something  paternal  and  hospitable. 


ai6  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

He  was  sorry  for  the  youth,  and  the  youth  was 
necessary  to  him.  Then  Chelkash  took  Gabriel 
under  the  armpits,  and  urging  him  lightly  forward 
from  behind  with  his  knee,  led  him  out  of  the  door  of 
the  tavern,  where  he  placed  him  on  the  ground  in  the 
shadow  of  a  pile  of  wood,  and  himself  sat  down  beside 
him  and  smoked  his  pipe.  Gabriel  rolled  about  for  a 
bit,  bellowed  drunkenly,  and  dozed  off. 


II. 


M  Well  now,  are  you  ready  ?  "  inquired  Chelkash  in 
a  low  voice  of  Gabriel,  who  was  fumbling  about  with 
the  oars. 

"  Wait  a  moment.  The  row-locks  are  all  waggly. 
Can  I  ship  oars  for  a  bit  ?  " 

"  No,  no  !  'Don't  make  a  noise !  Press  down  more 
firmly  with  your  hands,  and  they'll  fall  into  place  of 
their  own  accord." 

The  pair  of  them  were  quietly  making  off  with  the 
skiff  attached  to  the  stern  of  one  of  a  whole  flotilla  of 
sailing  barques  laden  with  batten  rivets  and  large 
Turkish  feluccas  half  unloaded  and  still  half-filled 
with  palm,  sandal,  and  thick  cypress-wood  logs. 

The  night  was  dark,  across  the  sky  dense  layers  of 
ragged  cloud  were  flitting,  and  the  water  was  still, 
dark,  and  as  thick  as  oil.  It  exhaled  a  moist,  saline 
aroma,  and  murmured  caressingly  as  it  splashed 
against  the  sides  of  the  ships  and  against  the  shore, 


CHELKASH.  217 

and  rocked  the  skiff  of  Chelkash  to  and  fro. 
Stretching  a  long  distance  seawards  from  the  shore, 
rose  the  dark  hulls  of  many  vessels,  piercing  the  sky 
with  their  sharp  masts  which  had  variegated  lanterns 
in  their  tops.  The  sea  reflected  the  lights  of  these 
lanterns,  and  was  covered  with  a  mass  of  yellow 
patches.  They  twinkled  prettily  on  its  soft,  faint- 
black,  velvet  bosom,  heaving  so  calmly,  so  power- 
fully. The  sea  was  sleeping  the  sleep  of  a  strong  and 
healthy  labourer  wearied  to  death  by  the  day's  work. 

"  Let's  be  off,"  said  Gabriel,  thrusting  the  oar  into 
the  water. 

"  Go  1 "  Chelkash,  with  a  powerful  thrust  of  his 
hand,  thrust  the  skiff  right  into  the  strip  of  water 
behind  the  barques.  The  skiff  flew  swiftly  through 
the  smooth  water,  and  the  water,  beneath  the  stroke 
of  the  oars,  burned  with  a  bluish,  phosphorescent 
radiance.  A  long  ribbon  of  this  radiance,  faintly 
gleaming,  tapered  away  from  the  keel  of  the  skiff. 

"  Well,  how's  the  head  ?  Aching,  eh  ?  "  inquired 
Chelkash  jocosely. 

"  Frightfully.  It  hums  like  molten  iron.  I'll  wash 
it  with  water  presently." 

"Why?  What  you  want  is  something  to  go 
inside.  Take  a  pull  at  that — that  will  soon  put  you 
all  right,"  and  he  handed  Gabriel  a  flask. 

11  Oh-ho !     Lord  bless  you  ! " 

A  gentle  gurgle  was  audible. 

"  How  now  ?     Feel  glad,  eh  ?     Stop,  that'll  do  !  " 


3i8  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

The  skiff  sped  on  again,  lightly  and  noiselessly, 
turning  and  winding  among  the  vessels.  Suddenly 
it  wrenched  itself  free  from  them,  and  the  sea — the 
endless,  mighty,  glistening;  sea — lay  extended  before 
them,  receding  into  the  blue  distance,  whence  there 
arose  out  of  its  waters  mountains  of  cloud  of  a  dark 
lilac-blue,  with  yellowish  downy  fringes  at  the  corners, 
and  greenish  clouds  the  colour  of  sea  water,  and  those 
melancholy  leaden  clouds  which  cast  abroad  such 
heavy,  oppressive  shadows,  crushing  down  mind  and 
spirit  They  crept  so  slowly  away  from  one  another, 
and  now  blending  with,  now  pursuing  one  another, 
intermingled  their  shapes  and  colours,  swallowing 
each  other  up  and  re-emerging  in  fresh  shapes,  mag- 
nificent and  menacing.  .  .  .  And  there  was  something 
mysterious  in  the  gradual  motion  of  these  lifeless 
masses.  There  seemed  to  be  an  infinite  host  of 
them  at  the  verge  of  the  sea-shore,  and  it  seemed  as 
if  they  must  always  creep  indifferently  over  the  face 
of  Heaven,  with  the  sullen,  evil  aim  of  obliterating 
it,  and  never  allowing  it  to  shine  down  again  upon 
the  sleeping  sea  with  its  millions  of  golden  eyes, 
the  many-coloured  living  stars  that  sparkle  so 
dreamily,  awakening  lofty  desires  in  those  to  whom 
their  pure  and  holy  radiance  is  so  precious. 

"  The  sea's  good,  ain't  it  ?  "  inquired  Chelkash. 

"Rubbish!  it's  horrible  to  me,"  replied  Gabriel, 
as  his  oars  struck  the  water  vigorously  and  symmetri- 
cally. The  water  plashed  and  gurgled  with  a  scarcely 


CHELKASH.  219 

audible  sound  beneath  the  strokes  of  the  long  oars 
— splashing  and  splashing,  and  sparkling  with  its 
warm  blue  phosphorescent  light. 

"  Horrible  !  do  you  say  ?  Ugh,  you  fool ! "  ex- 
claimed Chelkash  contemptuously. 

He,  thief  and  cynic,  loved  the  sea.  His  excitable, 
nervous  nature,  greedy  of  new  impressions,  was  never 
tired  of  contemplating  that  dark  expanse,  limitless, 
free,  and  mighty.  And  it  offended  him  to  receive 
such  an  answer  to  his  question  as  to  the  loveliness 
of  the  thing  he  loved.  Sitting  in  the  stern,  he  cut  the 
water  with  his  oar,  and  looked  calmly;in  front  of  him, 
full  of  the  desire  to  go  long  and  far  in  that  velvety 
smoothness. 

On  the  sea  there  always  arose  within  him  a  broad, 
warm  feeling  embracing  his  whole  soul,  and,  for  a 
time,  purifying  him  from  the  filth  of  earthly  life. 
This  feeling  he  prized,  and  he  loved  to  see  himself 
better  there,  in  the  midst  of  the  water  and  the  air,  where 
thoughts  of  life  and  life  itself  always  lost  first  their 
keenness  and  then  their  value.  At  night  on  the  sea 
can  be  heard  the  soft  murmur  of  the  sea's  slum- 
berous breathing,  that  incomprehensible  sound  which 
pours  peace  into  the  soul  of  man,  and  caressingly 
taming  his  evil  impulses,  awakes  within  him  mighty 
musings.  .  .  . 

"But  where's  the  tackle,  eh?"  inquired  Gabriel 
suddenly,  looking  uneasily  about  the  boat. 

Chelkash  started  violently. 


220  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"  The  tackle  ? — it  is  with  me  in  the  stern  of  the 
boat." 

"What  sort  of  tackle  is  that?"  Gabriel  again 
inquired,  this  time  with  suspicion  in  his  voice. 

"  What  tackle  ?     Why,  ground  tackle  and " 

But  Chelkash  felt  ashamed  to  lie  to  this  youngster 
while  concealing  his  real  project,  and  he  regretted  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  which  the  question  of  this  rustic 
had  suddenly  annihilated.  He  grew  angry.  A 
familiar,  sharp,  burning  sensation  in  his  breast  and 
throat  convulsed  him,  and  he  said  to  Gabriel  with 
suppressed  fury : 

"Mind  your  own  business,  and  don't  thrust  your 
nose  into  other  folk's  affairs.  You  are  hired  to  row 
— so  row.  If  your  tongue  wags  again  it  will  be  the 
worse  for  you.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

For  a  moment  the  skiff  rocked  to  and  fro,  and  stood 
still.  The  oars  remained  in  the  water  feathering  it, 
and  Gabriel  moved  uneasily  on  his  bench. 

"Row!" 

Violent  abuse  shook  the  air.  Gabriel  grasped  the 
oars.  The  skiff,  as  if  terrified,  fared  along  with  quick, 
nervous  jolts,  noisily  cutting  through  the  water. 

"  Steadier ! " 

Chelkash  rose  a  little  from  his  seat  in  the  stern, 
without  letting  go  his  oar,  and  fixed  his  cold  eyes  on 
the  pale  face  and  trembling  lips  of  Gabriel.  Bending 
forward  with  arched  back  he  resembled  a  cat  about 
to  spring.  Perfectly  audible  was  the  savage  grinding 


CHELKASH.  221 

of  his  teeth,  and  also  a  timorous  clattering  as  if  of 
bones. 

"  Who  calls  ? "  resounded  a  surly  shout  from  the  sea. 

"  Devil  take  it ! — row,  can't  you  ?  Quiet  with  the 
oars !  I'll  kill  you,  you  hound  !  Row,  I  say  !  One, 
two !  You  dare  to  whisper,  that's  all ! "  whispered 
Chelkash. 

"  Mother  of  God  !  Holy  Virgin  ! "  whispered 
Gabriel,  trembling  and  helpless  with  terror  and 
over-exertion. 

The  skiff  turned  and  went  lightly  back  towards  the 
haven,  where  the  lights  of  the  lanterns  were  jogging 
together  in  a  parti-coloured  group,  and  the  shafts  of 
the  masts  were  visible. 

"  Hie  !  who  was  making  that  row  ? "  the  voice 
sounded  again.  This  time  it  was  further  off  than 
before.  Chelkash  felt  easier. 

"  You're  making  all  the  row  yourself,  my  friend  !  " 
he  cried  in  the  direction  of  the  voice,  and  then  he 
turned  again  to  Gabriel,  who  was  still  muttering  a 
prayer :  "  Well,  my  friend,  you're  in  luck  !  If  those 
devils  had  come  after  us  there  would  have  been  an 
«nd  of  you !  Do  you  hear  ?  I'd  have  thrown  you 
to  the  fishes  in  a  twinkling  !  " 

Now  when  Chelkash  spoke  calmly,  and  even  good- 
naturedly,  Gabriel  trembled  still  more  with  terror  and 
fell  to  beseeching. 

"  Listen  !  Let  me  go  !  For  Christ's  sake  let  me 
go !  Land  me  somewhere — oh,  oh,  oh !  I'm  ruined 


222  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

altogether.  Now,  in  the  name  of  God,  let  me  go ! 
What  am  I  to  you  ?  I'm  not  up  to  it.  I'm  not  used 
to  such  things.  It's  the  very  first  time.  Oh,  Lord  ! 
It's  all  up  with  me  !  How  could  you  so  deceive  me, 
my  friend  ?  It  is  wilful  of  you.  You  have  lost  your 
soul.  A  pretty  business." 

"  What  business  do  you  mean  ? "  asked  Chelkash 
surlily.  "  Ha  !  What  business,  eh  ?  " 

He  was  amused  at  the  terror  of  the  rustic,  and  he 
took  a  delight  in  Gabriel's  terror,  because  it  showed 
what  a  terrible  fellow  he,  Chelkash,  was. 

"  A  dark  business,  my  friend  !  Let  me  go,  for  God's 
sake.  What  harm  have  I  done  you  ?  .  .  Mercy  .  .  .!" 

"  Silence !  If  you  were  of  no  use  to  me  I  would 
not  have  taken  you.  Do  you  understand  ? — And 
now  be  quiet !  " 

"  Oh,  Lord  ! "  sighed  the  sobbing  Gabriel. 

"  Come,  come  !  Don't  blubber  !  "  Chelkash 
rounded  on  him  sternly. 

But  Gabriel  could  no  longer  restrain  himself,  and 
sobbing  softly,  wept  and  snivelled  and  fidgeted  on 
his  seat,  but  rowed  vigorously,  desperately.  The 
skiff  sped  along  like  a  dart  Again  the  dark  hulls  of 
big  vessels  stood  in  their  way,  and  the  skiff  lost  itself 
among  them,  turning  like  a  top  in  the  narrow  streaks 
of  water  between  the  vessels. 

"  Hie  you !  Listen  !  If  anyone  asks  you  any- 
thing, hold  your  tongue,  if  you  want  to  remain  alive  ! 
Do  you  understand  ?  " 


CHELKASH.  223 

"  Woe  is  me !  "  sighed  Gabriel  hopelessly  in  reply 
to  the  stern  command,  adding  bitterly :  "  My 
accursed  luck ! " 

"  Now  row !  "  said  Chelkash  in  an  intense  curdling 
whisper. 

At  this  whisper  Gabriel  lost  all  capacity  for  form- 
ing any  ideas  whatsoever,  and  became  more  dead 
than  alive,  benumbed  by  a  cold  presentiment  of 
coming  evil.  He  mechanically  lowered  his  oars  into 
the  water,  leaned  back  his  uttermost,  took  a  long 
pull,  and  set  steadily  to  work  again,  gazing  stolidly 
all  the  time  at  his  bast  shoes. 

The  sleepy  murmur  of  the  waves  had  now  a  sullen 
sound  and  became  terrible.  They  were  in  the 
haven  .  .  .  Behind  its  granite  wall  could  be  heard 
people's  voices,  the  splashing  of  water,  singing,  and 
high-pitched  whistling. 

"  Stop  !  "  whispered  Chelkash.  "  Ship  oars  !  cling 
close  to  the  wall !  Hush,  you  devil !  " 

Gabriel,  grasping  the  slippery  stones  with  his 
hands,  drew  the  skiff  up  alongside  the  wall.  The  skiff 
moved  without  any  grating,  its  keel  gliding  noiselessly 
over  the  slimy  seaweed  growing  on  the  stones. 

"  Stop !  Give  me  the  oars !  Give  them  here  \ 
Where's  your  passport  ?  In  your  knapsack  ?  Hand 
over  the  knapsack  !  Come,  look  sharp  !  It  will  be  a 
good  hostage  for  your  not  bolting !  You'll  not  bolt 
now,  I  know !  Without  the  oars  you  might  bolt 
somewhere,  but  without  the  passport  you'd  be  afraid 


224  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

to.  Wait,  and  look  here,  if  you  whine — to  the 
bottom  of  the  sea  you  go ! " 

And  suddenly  clinging  to  something  with  his 
hands,  Chelkash  rose  in  the  air  and  disappeared  over 
the  wall. 

Gabriel  trembled  ...  It  was  done  so  smartly. 
He  began  to  feel  the  cursed  oppression  and  terror 
which  he  felt  in  the  presence  of  that  evil  moustached 
thief,  rolling,  creeping  off  him.  Now  was  the  time  to 
run  !  .  .  .  With  a  sigh  of  relief  he  looked  about 
him.  To  the  left  of  him  rose  a  black  mastless  hull, 
a  sort  of  immense  tomb,  unpeopled  and  desolate. 
Every  stroke  of  the  billows  against  its  side  awoke 
within  it  a  hollow,  hollow  echo,  like  a  heavy  sigh. 
To  the  right  of  him  on  the  water,  stretching  right 
away,  was  the  grey  stony  wall  of  the  mole,  like  a  cold 
and  massive  serpent  Behind,  some  black  bodies  were 
also  visible,  and  in  front,  in  the  opening  between  the 
wall  and  the  hull  of  the  floating  tomb,  the  sea  was 
visible,  dumb  and  dreary  with  black  clouds  all  over  it. 
Huge  and  heavy,  they  were  moving  slowly  along, 
drawing  their  horror  from  the  gloom  and  ready  to 
stifle  man  beneath  their  heaviness.  Everything  was 
cold,  black,  and  of  evil  omen.  Gabriel  felt  terrified. 
This  terror  was  worse  than  the  terror  inspired  by 
Chelkash,  it  grasped  the  bosom  of  Gabriel  in  a  strong 
embrace,  made  him  collapse  into  a  timid  lump,  and 
nailed  him  to  the  bench  of  the  skiff. 

And  around  him  all  was  silent,  not  a  sound  save 


CHELKASH.  a  25 

the  sighing  of  the  sea,  and  it  seemed  as  if  this  silence 
were  broken  upon  by  something  terrible,  something 
insanely  loud,  by  something  which  shook  the  sea  to 
its  very  foundation,  tore  asunder  the  heavy  flocks  of 
clouds  in  the  sky,  and  scattered  over  the  wilderness 
of  the  sea  all  those  heavy  vessels.  The  clouds  crept 
along  the  sky  just  as  gradually  and  wearyingly 
as  before ;  but  more  and  more  of  them  kept 
rising  from  the  sea,  and,  looking  at  the  sky,  one  might 
fancy  that  it  also  was  a  sea,  but  a  sea  in  insurrection 
against  and  falling  upon  the  other  so  slumberous, 
peaceful,  and  smooth.  The  clouds  resembled  billows 
pouring  upon  the  earth  with  grey  inwardly-curling 
crests ;  they  resembled  an  abyss,  from  which  these 
billows  were  torn  forth  by  the  wind  ;  they  resembled 
new-born  breakers  still  covered  with  greenish  foam  of 
rage  and  frenzy. 

Gabriel  felt  himself  overwhelmed  by  this  murky 
silence  and  beauty ;  he  felt  that  he  would  like  to  see 
his  master  again  soon.  Why  was  he  staying  away 
there?  The  time  passed  slowly,  more  slowly  even 
than  the  clouds  crawling  across  the  sky  .  .  .  And  the 
silence  as  time  went  on  became  more  and  more 
ominous.  But  now  from  behind  the  wall  of  the  mole 
a  splashing,  a  rustling,  and  something  like  a  whisper- 
ing became  audible.  It  seemed  to  Gabriel  as  if  he 
must  die  on  the  spot. 

"  Hie  !  Are  you  asleep  ?  Catch  hold  ! "  sounded 
the  hollow  voice  of  Chelkash  cautiously. 

P 


•a6  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

Something  round  and  heavy  was  let  down  from  the 
wall,  Gabriel  hauled  it  into  the  boat.  Another 
similar  thing  was  let  down.  Then  across  the  wall 
stretched  the  long  lean  figure  of  Chelkash,  then  from 
somewhither  appeared  the  oars,  Gabriel's  knapsack 
plumped  down  at  his  feet,  and  heavily  breathing 
Chelkash  was  sitting  in  the  stern. 

Gabriel  looked  at  him  and  smiled  joyfully  and 
timidly. 

"  Tired  ?  "  he  asked. 

"A  bit,  you  calf!  Come,  take  the  oars  and  put 
your  whole  heart  into  it.  A  bit  of  work  will  do  you 
no  harm,  my  friend.  The  work's  half  done,  now 
we've  only  got  to  swim  a  bit  under  their  very  noses, 
and  then  you  shall  have  your  money  and  go  to  your 
Polly.  You  have  a  Polly,  haven't  you  ?  Eh,  baby  ?  " 

Gabriel  did  his  very  utmost,  working  with  a  breast 
like  shaggy  fur  and  with  arms  like  steel  springs.  The 
water  foamed  beneath  the  skiff,  and  the  blue  strip 
behind  the  stern  now  became  broader.  Gabriel  was 
presently  covered  with  sweat,  but  kept  on  rowing  with 
all  his  might.  Experiencing  such  terror  twice  in  one 
night,  he  feared  to  experience  it  a  third  time,  and 
only  wished  for  one  thing :  to  be  quite  out  of  this 
cursed  work,  land  on  terra  firma,  and  run  away  from 
this  man  before  he  killed  him  downright,  or  got  him 
locked  up  in  jail.  He  resolved  to  hold  no  conver- 
sation with  him,  to  contradict  him  in  nothing,  to  do 
all  he  commanded,  and  if  he  were  fortunate  enough 


CHELKASH.  127 

to  break  away  from  him,  he  vowed  to  offer  up  a 
prayer  to  St.  Nicholas,  the  Wonder  Worker,  on  the 
morrow.  A  passionate  prayer  was  ready  to  pour 
from  his  breast  .  .  .  But  he  controlled  him- 
self, panted  like  a  steam-engine,  and  was  silent, 
casting  sidelong  glances  at  Chelkash  from  time  to 
time. 

And  Chelkash,  long,  lean,  leaning  forward  and 
resembling  a  bird  ready  to  take  to  flight,  glared  into 
the  gloom  in  front  of  the  boat  with  his  vulture  eyes, 
and  moving  his  hooked  beak  from  side  to  side,  with 
one  hand  held  the  tiller  firmly,  while  with  the  other 
he  stroked  his  moustache,  his  features  convulsed 
occasionally  by  the  smiles  that  curled  his  thin  lips. 
Chelkash  was  satisfied  with  his  success,  with  him- 
self, and  with  this  rustic  so  terribly  frightened  by 
him,  and  now  converted  into  his  slave.  He  was 
enjoying  in  anticipation  the  spacious  debauch  of 
to-morrow,  and  now  delighted  in  his  power  over  this 
fresh  young  rustic  impounded  into  his  service.  He  saw 
how  he  was  exerting  himself,  and  he  felt  sorry  for 
him,  and  wished  to  encourage  him. 

"  Hie ! "  said  he  softly,  with  a  smile,  "  got  over 
your  funk,  eh  ? " 

"  It  was  nothing ! "  sighed  Gabriel,  squirming 
before  him. 

"  You  needn't  lean  so  heavily  on  your  oars  now. 
Take  it  easy  a  bit  We've  only  got  one  more  place 
to  pass.  Rest  a  bit" 


aaS  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

Gabriel  stopped  short  obediently,  wiped  the  sweat 
off  his  face  with  his  shirt-sleeve,  and  again  thrust  the 
oars  into  the  water. 

"  Row  more  gently.  Don't  let  the  water  blab 
about  you  !  We  have  only  the  gates  to  pass.  Softly, 
softly !  We've  serious  people  to  deal  with  here,  my 
friend.  They  may  take  it  into  their  heads  to  joke  a 
bit  with  their  rifles.  They  might  saddle  you  with 
such  a  swelling  on  your  forehead  that  you  wouldn't 
even  be  able  to  sing  out :  oh  !  " 

The  skiff  now  crept  along  upon  the  water  almost 
noiselessly.  Qnly  from  the  oars  dripped  blue  drops 
and  when  they  fell  into  the  sea,  tiny  blue  spots 
lingered  for  an  instant  on  the  place  where  they 
fell.  The  night  grew  even  darker  and  stiller.  The 
sky  no  longer  resembled  a  sea  in  insurrection — the 
clouds  had  spread  all  over  it  and  covered  it  with  an 
even,  heavy  baldachin,  drooping  low  and  motionless 
over  the  sea.  The  sea  grew  still  quieter,  blacker, 
and  exhaled  a  still  stronger  saline  odour,  nor  did  it 
seem  so  vast  as  heretofore. 

"  Ah  !  if  only  the  rain  would  come ! "  whispered 
Chelkash,  "it  would  be  as  good  as  a  curtain  for 
us." 

Right  and  left  of  them  some  sort  of  edifice  now 
rose  out  of  the  black  water — barges,  immovable, 
sinister,  and  as  black  as  the  water  itself.  On  one 
of  them  a  fire  was  twinkling,  and  someone  was 
going  about  with  a  lantern.  The  sea,  washing  their 


CHELKASH.  229 

sides,  sounded  supplicatory  and  muffled,  and  they 
responded  in  a  shrill  and  cold  echo,  as  if  quarrelsome 
and  refusing  to  concede  anything  to  it. 

"  The  cordons  !  "  whispered  Chelkash  in  a  scarcely 
audible  voice. 

From  the  moment  when  he  commanded  Gabriel 
to  row  more  gently,  Gabriel  was  again  dominated  by 
a  keen  expectant  tension.  Onwards  he  kept,  going 
through  the  gloom,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was 
growing — his  bones  and  sinews  were  extending  within 
him  with  a  dull  pain,  his  head,  filled  with  a  single 
thought,  ached  abominably,  the  skin  on  his  back 
throbbed,  and  his  feet  were  full  of  tiny,  sharp,  cold 
needles.  His  eyes  were  exhausted  by  gazing  intently 
into  the  gloom,  from  which  he  expected  to  emerge 
every  instant  something  which  would  cry  to  them 
with  a  hoarse  voice  :  "  Stop,  thieves  !  " 

Now,  when  Chelkash  whispered,  "  The  cordons  ! " 
Gabriel  trembled,  a  keen  burning  thought  ran  through 
him,  and  settled  upon  his  over-strained  nerves — he 
wanted  to  shout  and  call  to  people  to  help  him.  He 
had  already  opened  his  mouth,  and,  rising  a  little  in 
the  skiff,  stuck  out  his  breast,  drew  in  a  large  volume 
of  air,  and  opened  his  mouth  .  .  .  but  suddenly, 
overcome  by  a  feeling  of  terror  which  struck  him  like 
the  lash  of  a  whip,  he  closed  his  eyes  and  rolled  off 
his  bench. 

In  front  of  the  skiff,  far  away  on  the  horizon  out  of 
the  black  water,  arose  an  enormous  fiery-blue  sword, 


230  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

cutting  athwart  the  night,  gliding  edgewise  over  the 
clouds  on  the  sky,  and  lying  on  the  bosom  of  the  sea 
in  a  broad  blue  strip.  There  it  lay,  and  into  the  zone 
of  its  radiance  there  floated  out  of  the  dark  the 
hitherto  invisible  black  vessels,  all  silent  and  en- 
shrouded in  the  .thick  night  mists.  It  seemed  as  if 
they  had  lain  for  long  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea, 
drawn  down  thither  by  the  mighty  power  of  the 
tempest,  and  now  behold !  they  had  risen  from 
thence  at  the  command  of  the  fiery  sea-born  sword, 
risen  to  look  at  the  sky  and  at  all  above  the  water. 
Their  tackle  hugged  the  masts,  and  seemed  to  be 
ends  of  seaweed  risen  from  the  depths  together  with 
these  black  giants  immeshed  within  them.  And  again 
this  strange  gleaming  blue  sword  arose  from  the  sur- 
face of  the  sea,  again  it  cut  the  night  in  twain,  and 
flung  itself  in  another  direction.  And  again  where 
it  lay  the  dark  hulls  of  vessels,  invisible  before  its 
manifestation,  floated  out  of  the  darkness. 

The  skiff  of  Chelkash  stood  still  and  rocked  to  and 
fro  on  the  water  as  if  irresolute.  Gabriel  lay  at  the 
bottom  of  it,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  and 
Chelkash  poked  him  with  the  oars  and  whispered 
furiously,  but  quietly  : 

41  Fool !  that's  the  custom-house  cruiser.  That  is 
the  electric  lantern.  Get  up,  you  blockhead.  The 
light  will  be  thrown  upon  us  in  a  moment.  What  the 
devil !  you'll  ruin  me  as  well  as  yourself  if  you  don't 
look  out.  Come  !  " 


CHELKASH.  23! 

And  at  last  when  one  of  the  blows  with  the  sharp 
end  of  the  oar  caught  Gabriel  more  violently  than 
the  others  on  the  spine,  he  leaped  up,  still  fearing  to 
open  his  eyes,  sat  on  the  bench,  blindly  grasped  the 
oars,  and  again  set  the  boat  in  motion. 

"  Not  so  much  noise  !  I'll  kill  you,  I  will !  Not  so 
much  noise,  I  say.  What  a  fool  you  are  !  Devil  take 
you  .  .  .  What  are  you  afraid  of?  Now  then,  ugly! 
The  lantern  is  a  mirror — that's  all !  Softly  with  the 
oars,  silly  devil !  They  incline  the  mirror  this  way 
and  that,  and  so  light  up  the  sea,  in  order  that  they 
may  see  whether  folks  like  you  and  me,  for  instance, 
are  sailing  about  anywhere.  They  do  it  to  catch 
smugglers.  They  won't  tackle  us — they'll  sail  far 
away.  Don't  be  afraid,  clodhopper,  they  won't 
tackle  us.  Now  we're  clear  .  .  ."  Chelkash  looked 
round  triumphantly  ...  "At  last  we've  sailed  out 
of  it !  Phew  !  well  you're  lucky,  blockhead  ! " 

Gabriel  kept  silence,  rowed  and  breathed  heavily, 
still  gazing  furtively  in  the  direction  where  that  fiery 
sword  kept  on  rising  and  falling.  He  could  by  no 
means  believe  Chelkash  that  it  was  only  a  lamp  with 
a  reflector.  The  cold  blue  gleam,  cutting  the  darkness 
asunder  and  making  the  sea  shine  with  a  silvery 
radiance,  had  something  incomprehensible  in  it,  and 
Gabriel  again  fell  into  the  hypnosis  of  anxious  terror. 
And  again  a  foreboding  weighed  heavily  on  his  breast. 
He  rowed  like  a  machine,  all  huddled  up,  as  if 
he  expected  a  blow  to  come  from  above  him ;  and 


33*  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

not  a  desire,  not  a  single  feeling  remained  in  him 
— he  was  empty  and  spiritless.  The  agitation  of 
this  night  had  at  last  gnawed  out  of  him  every- 
thing human. 

But  Chelkash  triumphed  once  more,  the  whole 
thing  was  a  complete  success.  His  nerves,  accus- 
tomed to  excitement,  were  already  placid  again.  His 
moustaches  quivered  with  rapture,  and  a  hungry 
little  flame  was  burning  in  his  eyes.  He  felt  mag- 
nificent, whistled  between  his  teeth,  drew  a  deep 
inspiration  of  the  moist  air  of  the  sea,  glanced 
around,  and  smiled  good-naturedly  when  his  eyes 
rested  on  Gabriel. 

A  breeze  arose  and  awoke  the  sea,  which  suddenly 
began  heaving  sportively.  The  clouds  seemed  to 
make  themselves  thinner  and  more  transparent,  but 
the  whole  sky  was  obscured  by  them.  Despite  the 
fact  that  the  wind,  though  but  a  light  breeze,  played 
over  the  sea,  the  clouds  remained  motionless,  as  if 
lost  in  some  grey,  grizzling  meditation. 

"Come,  friend,  wake  up!  It's  high  time.  Why, 
you  look  as  if  your  soul  had  evaporated  through  your 
skin,  and  only  a  bag  of  bones  remained.  Dear  friend, 
I  say !  We're  pretty  well  at  the  end  of  this  job, 
eh?" 

It  was  pleasant  to  Gabriel,  at  any  rate,  to  hear  a 
human  voice,  even  if  the  speaker  were  Chelkash. 

"  I  hear,"  he  said  softly. 

"Very  well,    thick-head.      Come    now,    take    the 


CHELKASH.  233 

rudder,  and  I'll  have  a  go  at  the  oars.  You  seem 
tired.  Come ! " 

Gabriel  mechanically  changed  places.  When 
Chelkash,  in  changing  places  with  him,  looked  him  in 
the  face  and  observed  that  his  tottering  legs  trembled 
beneath  him,  he  was  still  sorrier  for  the  lad.  He 
patted  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Well,  well,  don't  be  frightened.  You  have  worked 
right  well.  I'll  richly  reward  you,  my  friend.  What 
say  you  to  a  fiver,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  want  nothing.     Put  me  ashore,  that's  all." 

Chelkash  waved  his  hand,  spat  a  bit,  and  began 
rowing,  flinging  the  oars  far  back  with  his  long  arms. 

The  sea  was  waking.  It  was  playing  with  tiny 
billows,  producing  them,  adorning  them  with  a  fringe 
of  foam,  bumping  them  together,  and  beating  them 
into  fine  dust  The  foam,  in  dissolving,  hissed  and 
spluttered — and  everything  around  was  full  of  a 
musical  hubbub  and  splashing.  The  gloom  seemed 
to  have  more  life  in  it. 

"  Now,  tell  me,"  said  Chelkash,  "  I  suppose  you'll 
be  off  to  your  village,  marry,  plough  up  the  soil,  and 
sow  corn,  your  wife  will  bear  you  children,  and  there 
won't  be  food  enough.  Now,  tell  me,  do  you  mean 
to  go  on  working  your  heart  out  all  your  life  long? 
Say!  There's  not  very  much  fun  in  that  now,  is 
there?" 

"  Fun  indeed ! "  said  Gabriel  timidly  and  tremu- 
lously. 


a34  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

Here  and  there  the  wind  had  penetrated  the 
clouds,  and  between  the  gaps  peeped  forth  little 
patches  of  blue  sky,  with  one  or  two  little  stars  in 
them.  Reflected  by  the  sportive  sea,  these  little  stars 
leaped  up  and  down  on  the  waters,  now  vanishing 
and  now  shining  forth  again. 

"  Move  to  the  right,"  said  Chelkash  ; "  we  shall  soon 
be  there  now,  I  hope.  It's  over  now.  An  important 
little  job,  too.  Look  now — it's  like  this,  d'ye  hear? 
In  one  single  night  I've  grabbed  half  a  thousand. 
What  do  you  think  of  that,  eh  ?  " 

"  Half  a  thousand  ! "  gasped  Gabriel  incredulously, 
but  then  terror  again  seized  him,  and  kicking  the 
bundle  in  the  skiff,  he  asked  quickly,  "  What  sort  of 
goods  is  this  ?  " 

"It's  silk.  Precious  wares.  If  you  sold  all  that  at 
a  fair  price  you  would  get  a  full  thousand.  But  I'm 
not  a  shark  !  Smart,  eh  ?  " 

"Ye-es!"  gasped  Gabriel.  "If  only  it  had  been 
me,"  he  sighed,  all  at  once  thinking  of  his  village,  and 
his  poor  household,  his  necessities,  his  mother,  and 
everything  belonging  to  his  home  so  far  away,  for  the 
sake  of  which  he  had  gone  to  seek  work — for  the  sake 
of  which  he  had  endured  such  torments  this  very 
night.  A  wave  of  reminiscence  overwhelmed  him, 
and  he  bethought  him  of  his  little  village  running 
down  the  steep  slope  of  the  hill,  down  to  the  stream 
hidden  among  the  birches,  silver  willows,  mountain- 
ashes,  and  wild  cherry-trees.  These  reminiscences 


CHELKASH.  235 

suffused  him  with  a  warm  sort  of  feeling,  and  put 
some  heart  into  him.  "  Ah !  it's  valuable,  no  doubt," 
he  sighed. 

"  Well,  it  seems  to  me  you'll  very  soon  be  by  your 
iron  pot  at  home.  How  the  girls  at  home  will  cotton 
to  you !  You  may  pick  and  choose.  No  doubt  your 
house  is  crazy  enough  just  now  .  .  .  well,  I  sup- 
pose we  want  a  little  money  to  build  it  up  again, 
just  a  little,  eh  .  .  ?  " 

"  That's  true  enough  .  .  .  the  house  is  in  sore 
need — wood  is  so  dear  with  us." 

"Come  now,  how  much?  Old  shanty  wants 
repairing,  eh  ?  How  about  a  horse  ?  Got  one  ?  " 

"A  horse?  Oh,  yes,  there  is  one  .  .  .  but 
damned  old." 

"  Well,  you  must  have  a  horse,  of  course.  .  .  . 
A  jolly  good  'un.  .  .  .  And  a  cow,  I  suppose 
.  .  .  some  sheep  .  .  .  fowls  of  different  sorts, 
eh?" 

"  Don't  speak  of  it !  Ah !  if  it  could  be  so  !  Ah ! 
Lord  !  Lord  !  then  life  would  be  something  like." 

"  Well,  friend,  life's  a  poor  thing  in  itself.  ...  I 
know  something  about  it  myself.  I  have  my  own 
little  nest  somewhere  or  other.  My  father  was  one 
of  the  richest  in  the  village  .  .  ." 

Chelkash  rowed  slowly.  The  skiff  rocked  upon  the 
waves  saucily  splashing  against  her  sides,  scarcely 
moving  upon  the  dark  sea,  and  the  sea  sported  ever 
more  and  more  saucily.  Two  people  were  dreaming 


336  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

as  they  rocked  upon  the  water,  glancing  pensively 
around  them.  Chelkash  guided  Gabriel's  thoughts  to 
his  village,  wishing  to  encourage  him  a  little  and 
soothe  him.  At  first  he  spoke,  smiling  sceptically  to 
himself  all  the  time  ;  but,  presently,  suggesting  replies 
to  his  neighbour,  and  reminding  him  of  the  joys  of  a 
rustic  life,  as  to  which  he  himself  had  long  been 
disillusioned,  he  forgot  all  about  them,  and  remem- 
bered only  the  actual  present,  and  wandered  far  away 
from  his  intention,  so  that  instead  of  questioning  the 
rustic  about  his  village  and  its  affairs,  he  insensibly 
fell  to  laying  down  the  law  to  him  on  the  subject. 

"The  chief  thing  in  the  life  of  the  peasant,  my 
friend,  is  liberty.  You  are  your  own  master.  You 
have  your  house — not  worth  a  farthing,  perhaps — 
but  still  it  is  your  own.  You  have  your  land — a 
mere  handful,  no  doubt — still  it  is  yours.  You  have 
your  own  hives,  your  own  eggs,  your  own  apples. 
You  are  king  on  your  own  land  !  And  then  the  regu- 
larity of  it.  Work  calls  you  up  in  the  morning — in 
spring  one  sort  of  work,  in  summer  another  sort  of 
work,  in  autumn  and  in  winter  work  again,  but  again 
of  a  different  sort.  Wherever  you  go,  it  is  to  your 
house  that  you  always  return — to  warmth  and  quiet. 
You're  a  king,  you  see.  Ain't  it  so?"  concluded 
Chelkash  enthusiastically,  thus  totting  up  the  long 
category  of  rustic  rights  and  privileges  with  the 
accompanying  suggestion  of  corresponding  obli- 
gations. 


CHELKASH.  237 

Gabriel  looked  at  him  curiously,  and  also  felt 
enthusiastic.  During  this  conversation  he  had 
managed  to  forget  whom  he  was  having  dealings 
with,  and  saw  before  him  just  such  a  peasant-farmer 
as  himself,  chained  for  ages  to  the  soil  through 
many  generations,  bound  to  it  by  the  recollections 
of  childhood,  voluntarily  separated  from  it  and  from 
its  cares,  and  bearing  the  just  punishment  of  this 
separation. 

"  Ah,  brother !  true  !  Ah,  how  true  !  Look  at 
yourself  now.  What  are  you  now  without  the  land  ? 
Ah!  the  land,  my  friend,  is  like  a  mother;  not  for 
long  do  you  forget  her." 

Chelkash  fell  a  musing.  He  began  to  feel  once 
more  that  irritating,  burning  sensation  in  his  breast, 
that  sensation  which  arose  whenever  his  pride — the 
pride  of  the  tireless  adventurer — was  wounded  by 
something,  especially  by  something  which  had  no 
value  in  his  eyes. 

"  Silence ! "  he  cried  savagely,  "  no  doubt  you 
thought  I  meant  all  that  seriously.  Open  your  pouch 
a  little  wider." 

"You're  a  funny  sort  ot  man,"  said  Gabriel,  sud- 
denly grown  timid  again,  "  as  if  I  were  speaking  of 
you.  I  suppose  there  are  lots  like  you.  Alas  !  what 
a  lot  of  unhappy  people  there  are  in  the  world ! 
.  .  .  vagabonds  who  .  .  ." 

"Sit  down,  blockhead,  and  row,"  commanded 
Chelkash  curtly,  bottling  up  within  him,  somehow 


338  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

or  other,  a  whole  stream  of  burning  abuse  gushing 
into  his  throat. 

Again  they  changed  places,  and  as  they  did  so 
Chelkash,  as  he  crawled  into  the  stern  across  the 
packages,  felt  a  burning  desire  to  give  Gabriel  a  kick 
that  would  send  him  flying  into  the  water,  and  at  the 
same  time  could  not  muster  up  sufficient  strength  to 
look  him  in  the  face. 

The  short  dialogue  broke  off;  but  now  a  breath  of 
rusticity  was  wafted  to  Chelkash  from  the  very  silence 
of  Gabriel.  He  began  to  think  of  the  past,  forgot  to 
steer  the  boat,  which  was  turned  to  and  fro  by  the 
surge,  and  drifted  seawards.  The  waves  seemed  to 
understand  that  this  skiff  had  lost  its  purpose,  and 
pitching  her  higher  and  higher,  began  lightly  playing 
with  her,  flashing  their  friendly  blue  fire  beneath  her 
oars.  And  visions  of  the  past  rose  quickly  before 
Chelkash — visions  of  the  long  distant  past,  separated 
from  his  present  purpose  by  a  whole  barrier  of  eleven 
years  of  a  vagabond  life.  He  succeeded  in  recalling 
himself  as  a  child  ;  he  saw  before  him  his  village,  his 
mother,  a  red-cheeked,  plump  woman,  with  good  grey 
eyes,  his  father,  a  red-bearded  giant  with  a  stern  face. 
He  saw  himself  a  husband,  he  saw  his  wife,  black- 
haired  Anfisa,  with  a  long  pig-tail,  full-bodied,  gentle, 
merry  .  .  .  again  he  beheld  himself,  a  handsome 
beau,  a  soldier  in  the  Guards  ;  again  he  saw  his  father, 
grey-headed  and  crooked  by  labour,  and  his  mother 
all  wrinkled  and  inclining  earthwards ;  he  conjured 


CHELKASH.  339 

up,  too,  a  picture  of  the  meeting  in  the  village  when  he 
returned  from  service ;  he  saw  how  proud  of  his 
Gregory  his  father  was  before  the  whole  village,  his 
broad-shouldered,  vigorous,  handsome  soldier-son.  . 
Memory,  that  scourge  of  the  unlucky,  revived  the 
very  stories  of  the  past,  and  even  distilled  a  few  drops 
of  honey  into  the  proffered  draught  of  venom — and 
all  this,  too,  simply  to  crush  a  man  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  mistakes,  and  make  him  love  this 
past  and  deprive  him  of  hope  in  the  future. 

Chelkash  felt  himself  fanned  by  the  peaceful, 
friendly  breezes  of  his  native  air,  conveying  with  them 
to  his  ear  the  friendly  words  of  his  mother  and  the 
solid  speeches  of  his  sturdy  peasant-father,  and  many 
forgotten  sounds,  and  the  sappy  smell  of  his  mother- 
earth,  now  just  thawed,  now  just  ploughed  up,  and 
now  covered  by  the  emerald-green  silk  of  the  winter 
crops.  And  he  felt  himself  cast  aside,  rejected, 
wretched,  and  lonely,  plucked  forth  from  and  flung  for 
ever  away  from  that  order  of  life  in  which  the  blood 
that  flowed  in  his  veins  had  worked  its  way  upwards. 

"Hie!  whither  are  we  going?"  asked  Gabriel 
suddenly. 

Chelkash  started,  and  looked  around  with  the  un- 
easy glance  of  a  bird  of  prey. 

"  Ugh  !    The  devil  only  knows  !     It  doesn't  matter 
come,  a  steadier  stroke !      We    shall    be 
ashore  immediately." 

"  Meditating,  eh  ?  "  inquired  Gabriel  with  a  smile. 


a 40  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

Chelkash  looked  at  him  angrily.  The  youth  had 
quite  recovered  himself;  he  was  calm,  merry,  and,  in  a 
way,  even  triumphant  He  was  very  young,  he  had 
the  whole  of  life  still  before  him.  And  he  knew 
nothing.  That  was  stupid.  Perhaps  it  was  the  land 
that  kept  him  back.  When  such  thoughts  flashed 
through  the  head  of  Chelkash,  he  became  still  surlier, 
and  in  reply  to  Gabriel's  question  he  growled  : 

"  I  was  tired  .  .  .  and  there  was  the  rocking  of 
the  sea." 

"  Yes,  it  does  rock  .  .  .  But  now,  suppose  we 
are  nabbed  with  that?"  he  asked,  and  he  touched  the 
parcels  with  his  foot. 

"  No  fear  ...  be  easy !  I'm  going  to  hand  them 
over  immediately  and  get  the  money.  Come  ! " 

"  Five  hundred,  eh  ?  " 

"  Not  much  less,  I  should  think." 

"What  a  lot  of  money!  If  only  it  had  come  to  a 
poor  wretch  like  me !  I'd  have  sung  a  pretty  song 
with  it." 

"In  clodhopper  fashion,  eh ? " 

"  Nothing  less.     Why,  I  would  straight  off   .    .    ." 

And  Gabriel  was  carried  away  on  the  wings  of 
his  imagination.  Chelkash  seemed  depressed.  His 
moustaches  hung  down,  his  right  side,  sprinkled  by 
the  waves,  was  wet,  his  eyes  were  sunken,  and  had 
lost  their  brilliance.  He  was  very  miserable  and 
depressed.  All  that  was  predatory  in  his  appear- 
ance seemed  to  have  been  steeped  in  a  lowering 


CHELKASH.  241 

melancholy,  which  even  came  to  light  in  the  folds 
of  his  dirty  shirt. 

"Tired,  eh?  and  I'm  so  well  .  .  .  You've  over- 
done it  .  .  ." 

"  We  shall  be  there  in  a  moment  .  .  .  Look ! 
.  .  .  yonder!" 

Chelkash  turned  the  boat  sharply  round,  and  steered 
it  in  the  direction  of  a  black  something  emerging  from 
the  water. 

The  sky  was  once  more  all  covered  with  clouds, 
and  rain  had  begun  to  descend — a  fine,  warm  rain 
pattering  merrily  down  on  the  crests  of  the  waves. 

"  Stop  !  slower  ! "  commanded  Chelkash. 

The  nose  of  the  skiff  bumped  against  the  hull  of  a 
barque. 

"  Are  the  devils  asleep,"  growled  Chelkash,  grasping 
with  his  boat-hook  a  rope  dangling  down  the  side  of 
the  ship  ..."  Why,  the  ladder's  not  let  down  ! 
And  it's  raining,  too !  Why  don't  they  look  sharp ! 
Hie!  sluggards!  hie!" 

"Is  that  Chelkash?"  murmured  a  friendly  voice 
above  them. 

"  Yes,  let  down  the  ladder." 

"  How  goes  it,  Chelkash  ?  " 

"  Let  down  the  ladder,  you  devil ! "  roared  Chelkash. 

"  Oh,  he's  waxy  to-day,  eh  ?     There  you  are,  then. ' 

"  Up  you  go,  Gabriel,"  said  Chelkash,  turning  to  his 
companion. 

In  a  moment  they  were  on  the  deck,  where  three 

Q 


«4*  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

dark-bearded  figures,  jabbering  vigorously  together  in 
a  strange  pricky  sort  of  tongue,  were  looking  over- 
board into  Chelkash's  skiff.  The  fourth,  wrapped 
round  in  a  long  cloak,  came  to  him  and  pressed 
his  hand  in  silence,  and  then  glanced  suspiciously  at 
Gabriel. 

"  Have  the  money  ready  by  morning,"  said  Chelkash 
curtly.  "And  now  I'll  have  a  little  sleep.  Come, 
Gabriel.  Do  you  want  anything  to  eat  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  sleep,"  replied  Gabriel,  and  in  a 
few  moments  he  was  snoring  in  the  dirty  hold  of  the 
ship ;  but  Chelkash,  seated  by  his  side,  was  fitting  on 
some  sort  of  boot  to  his  foot,  and  meditatively  spitting 
about  him,*  fell  to  whistling  angrily  and  moodily 
through  his  teeth.  Then  he  stretched  himself  along- 
side Gabriel,  and  without  taking  off  his  boots,  folded 
his  arms  beneath  his  head,  and  began  concentrating 
his  attention  on  the  deck,  twisting  his  moustaches  the 
while. 

The  barque  rocked  slowly  on  the  heaving  water, 
now  and  then  a  plank  gave  forth  a  melancholy 
squeak,  the  rain  fell  softly  on  the  deck,  and  the 
waves  washed  the  sides  of  the  vessel.  It  was  all 
yery  mournful,  and  sounded  like  the  cradle-song  of  a 
mother  having  no  hope  of  the  happiness  of  her  son. 

Chelkash,  grinding  his  teeth,  raised  his  head  a  little, 
looked  around  him  .  .  .  and  having  whispered 
something,  lay  down  again.  .  .  .  Stretching  his 
legs  wide,  he  resembled  a  large  pair  of  shears. 


CHELKASH.  143 


III. 


He  awoke  first,  gazed  anxiously  around,  immedi- 
ately recovered  his  self-possession,  and  looked  at  the 
still  sleeping  Gabriel.  He  was  sweetly  snoring,  and 
was  smiling  at  something  in  his  sleep  with  his  childish, 
wholesome,  sun-tanned  face.  Chelkash  sighed,  and 
climbed  up  the  narrow  rope  ladder.  Through  the 
opening  of  the  hold  he  caught  sight  of  a  leaden  bit  of 
sky.  It  was  light,  but  grey  and  drear — autumnal  in 
fact. 

Chelkash  returned  in  about  a  couple  of  hours.  His 
face  was  cheerful,  his  moustaches  were  twirled  neatly 
upwards,  a  good-natured,  merry  smile  was  on  his  lips. 
He  was  dressed  in  long  strong  boots,  a  short  jacket, 
leather  trousers,  and  walked  with  a  jaunty  air.  His 
whole  costume  was  the  worse  for  wear,  but  strong,  and 
fitted  him  well,  making  his  figure  broader,  hiding  his 
boniness,  and  giving  him  a  military  air. 

"  Hie !  get  up,  blockhead  ! "  bumping  Gabriel  with 
his  foot. 

The  latter  started  up,  and  not  recognising  him  for 
sleepiness,  gazed  upon  him  with  dull  and  terrified 
eyes.  Chelkash  laughed. 

"  Why,  who  would  have  known  you  ? "  said  Gabriel 
at  last,  with  a  broad  grin  ;  "  you  have  become  quite  a 
swell." 

"Oh,  with  us  that  soon  happens.     Well,  still  in  a 


244  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

funk,  eh  ?  How  many  times  did  you  think  you  were 
going  to  die  last  night,  eh?  Tell  me,  now." 

"  Nay,  but  judge  fairly.  In  the  first  place,  what 
sort  of  a  job  was  I  on  ?  Why,  I  might  have  ruined 
my  soul  for  ever ! " 

"  Well,  I  should  like  it  all  over  again.  What  do 
you  say  ?  " 

"  Over  again  ?  Nay,  that's  a  little  too  .  .  .  how 
shall  I  put  it  ?  Is  it  worth  it  ?  That's  where  it  is." 

"  What,  not  for  two  rainbows  ?  " 

"  Two  hundred  roubles  you  mean  ?  Not  if  I  know 
it  Why,  I  ought  .  .  ." 

"  Stop.     How  about  ruining  your  soul,  eh  ?  " 

"Well,  you  see,  /  might  .  .  .  even  if  you 
didn't,"  smiled  Gabriel ;  "  instead  of  ruining  yourself 
you'd  be  a  made  man  for  life,  no  doubt" 

Chelkash  laughed  merrily. 

"All  right,  we  must  have  our  jokes,  I  suppose.  Let 
us  go  ashore.  Come,  look  sharp ! " 

"  I'm  ready." 

And  again  they  were  in  the  skiff,  Chelkash  at  the 
helm,  Gabriel  with  the  oars.  Above  them  the  grey  sky 
was  covered  by  a  uniform  carpet  of  clouds,  and  the 
turbid  green  sea  sported  with  their  skiff,  noisily  tossing 
it  up  and  down  on  the  still  tiny  billows,  and  sportively 
casting  bright  saline  jets  of  water  right  into  it  Far 
away  along  the  prow  of  the  skiff  a  yellow  strip  of 
sandy  shore  was  visible,  and  far  away  behind  the 
stern  stretched  the  free,  sportive  sea,  all  broken  up  by 


CHELKASH.  §45 

the  hurrying  heads  of  waves  adorned  here  and  there 
with  fringes  of  white  sparkling  foam.  There,  too, 
far  away,  many  vessels  were  visible,  rocking  on  the 
bosom  of  the  sea ;  far  away  to  the  left  was  a  whole 
forest  of  masts,  and  the  white  masses  of  the  houses  of 
the  town.  From  thence  a  dull  murmur  flitted  along 
the  sea,  thunderous,  and  at  the  same  time  blending 
with  the  splashing  of  the  waves  into  a  good  and 
sonorous  music.  .  .  .  And  over  everything  was 
cast  a  fine  web  of  ashen  vapour,  separating  the  various 
objects  from  each  other. 

"  Ah,  we  shall  have  a  nice  time  of  it  this  evening," 
and  Chelkash  jerked  his  head  towards  the  sea. 

"  A  storm,  eh  ? "  inquired  Gabriel,  ploughing  hard 
among  the  waves  with  his  oars.  He  was  already  wet 
from  head  to  foot  from  the  scud  carried  across  the  sea 
by  the  wind. 

Chelkash  grunted  assent. 

Gabriel  looked  at  him  searchingly. 

"  How  much  did  they  give  you  ?  "  he  asked  at  last, 
perceiving  that  Chelkash  was  not  inclined  to  begin 
the  conversation. 

"Look  there,"  said  Chelkash,  extending  towards 
Gabriel  a  small  pouch  which  he  had  taken  from  his 
pocket. 

Gabriel  saw  the  rainbow-coloured  little  bits  of 
paper,*  and  everything  he  gazed  upon  assumed  a 
bright  rainbow  tinge. 

*  Bank-notes. 


246  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"  You  are  a  brick !  And  here  have  I  been 
thinking  all  the  time  that  you  would  rob  me.  How 
much  ?  " 

"  Five  hundred  and  forty.     Smart,  eh  ?  " 

"  S-s-smart ! "  stammered  Gabriel,  his  greedy  eyes 
running  over  the  five  hundred  and  forty  roubles 
before  they  disappeared  into  the  pocket  again.  "  Oh 
my !  what  a  lot  of  money ! " — and  he  sighed  as  if  a 
whole  weight  was  upon  his  breast. 

"We'll  have  a  drink  together,  clodhopper,"  cried 
Chelkash  enthusiastically.  "Ah,  we'll  have  a  good 
time.  Don't  think  I  want  to  do  you,  my  friend,  I'll 
give  you  your  share.  I'll  give  you  forty,  eh?  Is 
that  enough  for  you  ?  If  you  like  you  shall  have 
'em  at  once." 

"  If  it's  all  the  same  to  you — no  offence — I'll  have 
'em  then." 

Gabriel  was  all  tremulous  with  expectation,  and 
not  only  with  expectation,  but  with  another  acute 
sucking  feeling  which  suddenly  arose  in  his  breast 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!  That's  like  you!  What  a  tight- 
fisted  devil  you  are  !  I'll  take  'em  now  !  Well,  take 
'em,  my  friend  ;  take  'em,  I  implore  you.  I  really 
don't  know  what  I  might  do  with  such  a  lot  of  money. 
Relieve  me  of  it !  Do  take  it  I  beg ! " 

Chelkash  handed  Gabriel  some  nice  bank-notes. 
The  latter  seized  them  with  a  trembling  hand,  threw 
down  the  oars,  and  began  concealing  the  cash  some- 
where in  his  bosom,  greedily  screwing  up  his  eyes  and 


CHELKASH.  247 

noisily  inhaling  the  air,  as  if  he  were  drinking  some- 
thing burning  hot.  Chelkash,  with  a  sarcastic  smile, 
observed  him,  but  Gabriel  soon  took  up  the  oars  again, 
and  rowed  on  nervously  and  hurriedly,  as  if  afraid 
of  something,  and  with  his  eyes  cast  down.  His 
shoulders  and  ears  were  all  twitching. 

"  Ah,  you're  greedy  !  Isn't  that  good  enough  ? 
What  more  do  you  want  ?  Just  like  a  rustic  !  "  said 
Chelkash  pensively. 

"  Ah,  with  money  one  can  do  something,"  cried 
Gabriel,  suddenly  exploding  with  passionate  excite- 
ment. And  gaspingly,  hurriedly,  as  if  pursuing 
his  own  thoughts  and  catching  his  words  on  the  wing, 
he  talked  of  life  in  the  country,  with  money  and 
without  money,  honour,  contentment,  liberty,  and 
hilarity. 

Chelkash  listened  to  him  attentively  with  a  serious 
face,  and  with  eyes  puckered  with  some  idea  or  other. 
At  times  he  smiled  a  complacent  smile. 

"  We  have  arrived ! "  cried  Chelkash,  at  last 
interrupting  the  discourse  of  Gabriel. 

A  wave  caught  the  skiff  and  skilfully  planted  it  on 
the  strand. 

"  Well,  my  friend,  here's  the  end  of  the  job.  We 
must  drag  the  boat  a  little  further  in  shore  that  it 
may  not  be  washed  away.  And  then  you  and  I  will 
say  good-bye.  It  is  eight  versts  from  here  to  the 
town.  What  are  you  going  to  do? — back  to 
town,  eh? 


•48  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

A  sly,  good-natured  smile  lit  up  the  face  of 
Chelkash,  and  he  had  all  the  appearance  of  a  man 
meditating  something  very  pleasant  for  himself  and 
unexpected  for  Gabriel.  Dipping  his  hand  into  his 
pocket  he  crinkled  the  bank-notes  there. 

"No  ...  I— I'm  not  going!  I— I  ..."  Gabriel 
breathed  heavily,  as  if  struggling  with  something. 
Within  him  was  raging  a  whole  mob  of  desires,  words, 
and  feelings,  mutually  devouring  each  other  and  filling 
him  as  if  with  fire. 

Chelkash  looked  at  him  doubtfully. 

"  Why  are  you  twisting  about  like  that?  " 

"  It's  because,  because  ..."  But  the  face  of 
Gabriel  was  burning  red  at  one  moment  and  deadly 
grey  at  another,  and  he  was  glued  to  the  spot, 
now  desiring  to  fall  upon  Chelkash,  and  now  torn 
by  other  desires,  the  fulfilment  of  which  was  difficult 
for  him. 

Chelkash  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  such  a 
•tate  of  excitement  in  this  rustic.  He  waited  to  see 
what  would  come  of  it. 

Gabriel  began  to  laugh  in  an  odd  sort  of  way,  it 
was  more  of  a  howl  than  a  laugh.  His  head  was 
lowered,  the  expression  of  his  face  Chelkash  did  not 
see,  but  the  ears  of  Gabriel,  alternately  reddish  and 
palish,  were  painfully  prominent. 

"  Come,  what  the  devil's  the  matter,"  said  Chelkash, 
waving  his  hand,  "have  you  fallen  in  love  with  me  all 
at  once  ?  What's  up  ?  You  change  colour  like  a 


CHELKASH.  249 

wench.  Sorry  to  part  from  me,  eh  ?  Eh,  blockhead  ? 
Say  what's  the  matter  with  you,  and  I'll  be  off." 

"  Going,  are  you  ?  "  shrieked  Gabriel  shrilly. 

The  sandy  and  desolate  shore  trembled  beneath 
his  cry,  and  the  yellow  billows  of  sand,  washed  by  the 
billows  of  the  sea,  seemed  to  undulate.  Chelkash  also 
trembled.  Suddenly  Gabriel  bounded  from  his  place, 
threw  himself  at  the  feet  of  Chelkash,  embraced  them 
with  his  arms,  and  turned  towards  him.  Chelkash 
staggered,  sat  down  heavily  on  the  sand,  gnashed  his 
teeth,  and  cut  the  air  sharply  with  his  long  arm, 
clenching  his  fist  at  the  same  time.  But  strike  he 
could  not,  being  stayed  by  the  shamefaced  suppli- 
cating whisper  of  Gabriel : 

"  Dear  little  pigeon  .  .  .  Give  me  .  .  . 
that  money !  Give  it  to  me,  for  Christ's  sake !  .  .  . 
What  is  it  to  you  ?  Why,  it  was  gained  in  a  single 
night  ...  in  a  single  night !  ...  It  would 
take  me  years  .  .  .  Give  it  me  .  .  .  I'll  pray 
for  you  if  you  will !  Perpetually  ...  in  three 
churches  ...  for  the  salvation  of  your  soul ! 
Look  now,  you'd  scatter  it  to  the  .  .  .  winds 

.  .  I  would  put  it  into  land.  Oh,  give  it  to  me ! 
What  is  it  to  you  ?  .  .  .  How  can  you  prize  it  ? 
A  single  night  .  .  .  and  you're  a  rich  man.  Do 
a  good  act !  You're  all  but  done  for  ...  You 
haven't  got  your  way  to  make.  But  I  would  .  .  . 
Oh  !  give  them  to  me  ! " 

Chelkash,  alarmed,  astonished,  and  offended,  sat  on 


250  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

the  sand,  leaning  back,  supporting  himself  on  his 
arms ;  he  sat  there  in  silence  and  fixed  a  terrible  gaze 
on  the  rustic  who  had  buried  his  head  in  his  knees, 
sobbing  as  he  whispered  his  petition.  He  repulsed 
him  at  last,  leaped  to  his  feet  and,  thrusting  his  hands 
into  his  pockets,  flung  the  rainbow  bank-notes  to 
Gabriel. 

"  There,  you  dog !  Devour  .  .  .  ! "  he  cried 
trembling  with  excitement,  bitter  sorrow  and  loathing 
for  this  greedy  slave.  And  he  felt  himself  a  hero  for 
thus  throwing  away  the  money.  Reckless  daring 
shone  in  his  eyes  and  lit  up  his  whole  face. 

"  I  was  going  to  give  you  more  of  my  own 
accord.  I  was  a  bit  down  in  the  mouth  yesterday, 
and  bethought  me  of  my  own  village.  I  thought  to 
myself:  let  us  give  this  rustic  a  helping  hand.  I  was 
waiting  to  see  what  you  would  do.  If  you  asked  you 
were  to  get  nothing.  And  you  !  Ugh !  you  miser ! 
mean  hound  !  To  think  that  it  is  possible  so  to  lower 
oneself  for  money  !  Fool !  Greedy  devils  the  lot  of 
you!  Not  to  recollect  yourself!  To  sell  yourself 
for  a  fiver!  Ugh!" 

"  Dear  little  pigeon  !  Christ  save  you  !  Now  I 
have  got  something  ...  a  thousand !  Now  I 
am  rich  ! "  cried  Gabriel  in  his  enthusiasm,  all  tremu- 
lous as  he  hid  his  money  away  in  his  bosom.  "  Ah, 
you  merciful  one !  Never  will  I  forget  it.  .  . 
Never  !  .  .  .  And  I'll  make  my  wife  and  children 
pray  for  you." 


CHELKASH.  251 

Chelkash  listened  to  his  joyous  cries,  looked  at  his 
radiant  face  deformed  by  the  rapture  of  greed,  and  he 
felt  that  he,  thief,  vagabond,  and  outcast  though  he 
was,  never  could  be  so  greedy,  so  mean,  so  forgetful 
of  his  own  dignity.  Never  would  he  be  such  a  one  ! 
And  these  thoughts  and  sensations,  filling  him  with 
the  consciousness  of  his  large  mindedness  and  non- 
chalance, held  him  fast  to  Gabriel  by  the  sandy 
sea-shore. 

"  You  have  made  me  happy  ! "  shrieked  Gabriel, 
and  seizing  the  hand  of  Chelkash  he  pulled  it  towards 
his  face. 

Chelkash  was  silent,  and  fleshed  his  teeth  like  a 
wolf.  Gabriel  continued  to  pour  forth  his  heart  to 
him  : 

"  Do  you  know  what  was  in  my  mind  ?  .  .  . 
We  came  here — I  saw  the  money  .  .  .  Thinks  I 
.  .  .  I'll  fetch  him  one  .  .  .  you  I  meant 
.  .  .  with  the  oar — c-c-crack  !  The  money's  mine 
and  he  ...  that's  you  .  .  .  goes  into  the 
sea  .  .  .  Who  would  ever  light  upon  him  ?  And 
if  they  did  find  him  they  would  never  inquire  how  he 
was  killed  or  who  killed  him  .  .  .  such  a  fellow 
as  that !  He's  not  the  sort  of  man  people  make  a 
fuss  about !  .  .  .  He's  no  good  at  all  in  the 
world  !  Who  would  ever  trouble  about  him  ?  You 
see  how  .  .  ." 

"  Give  up  that  money ! "  howled  Chelkash,  seizing 
Gabriel  by  the  throat. 


S5*  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

Gabriel  tore  himself  away — the  other  hand  of 
Chelkash  twined  round  him  like  a  serpent — there  was 
the  grating  tear  of  a  rent  shirt,  and  Gabriel  lay  on 
the  sands  with  senseless  goggling  eyes,  with  sprawl- 
ing feet  and  the  tips  of  his  outstretched  fingers 
fumbling  for  air.  Chelkash  stiff,  dry,  and  savage, 
with  grinding  teeth,  laughed  a  bitter  spasmodic  laugh, 
and  his  moustaches  twitched  nervously  on  his  clear- 
cut  angular  face.  Never  in  his  whole  life  had  he  felt 
so  angry. 

"  What,  you're  lucky,  eh  ?  "  he  inquired  of  Gabriel 
in  the  midst  of  his  laughter,  and  turning  his  back 
upon  him,  went  right  away  in  the  direction  of  the 
town.  But  he  hadn't  gone  a  couple  of  yards  when 
Gabriel,  with  his  back  arched  like  a  cat,  rose  on 
one  knee,  and  taking  a  wide  sweep  with  his  arm, 
threw  after  him  a  large  stone,  crying  spitefully: 
"  Crack !  " 

Chelkash  yelled,  put  both  his  hands  to  the  back  of 
his  head,  tottered  forward,  turned  towards  Gabriel, 
and  fell  prone  in  the  sand.  Gabriel's  heart  died 
away  as  he  gazed  at  him.  There  he  lay,  and 
presently  he  moved  his  foot,  tried  to  raise  his 
head,  and  stretched  himself,  quivering  like  a  bow- 
string. Then  Gabriel  set  off  running  away  in  the 
direction  of  the  misty  shore,  it  was  overhung  by 
a  shaggy  black  cloud,  and  was  dark.  The  waves 
were  roaring  as  they  ran  upon  the  sand,  mingling 
with  it  and  then  running  back  again.  The  foam 


CHELKASH.  253 

hissed,  and  the  sea-scud  was  flying  about  in  the 
air. 

The  rain  began  to  fall.  At  first  there  were  but 
rare  drops,  but  soon  it  poured  down  in  torrents, 
descending  from  the  sky  in  long  thin  jets,  weaving  a 
whole  net  of  water-threads — a  net  suddenly  hiding 
away  within  it  the  steppes  and  the  sea,  and  removing 
them  to  an  immense  distance.  Gabriel  vanished 
behind  it.  For  a  long  time  nothing  was  visible 
except  the  rain,  and  the  long  lean  man  lying  on  the 
sand  by  the  sea.  But  behold  !  again  from  out  of  the 
rain  emerged  the  running  Gabriel ;  he  flew  like  a  bird 
and,  running  towards  Chelkash,  fell  down  before 
him,  and  began  to  pull  him  about  on  the  ground. 
His  hands  dipped  into  the  warm  red  slime.  He 
trembled  and  staggered  back  with  a  pale  and  stupid 
face. 

"  Brother !  get  up  !  do  get  up  ! "  he  whispered  in  the 
ear  of  Chelkash  amidst  the  din  of  the  sea. 

Chelkash  came  to  himself  and  shoved  Gabriel  away, 
hoarsely  exclaiming  :  "  Be  off!  " 

"  Brother,  forgive  !  .  .  .  the  devil  tempted  me ! " 
whispered  the  tremulous  Gabriel,  kissing  Chelkash's 
hand. 

"  Go !     Be  off !  "  growled  the  other. 

"Take  the  sin  from  my  soul,  my  brother! 
Forgive  ! " 

"  Slope  !  Go  to  the  devil,  I  say  !  "  cried  Chelkash, 
and  with  an  effort  he  sat  up  on  the  sand.  His  face 


«S4  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

was  pale  and  angry,  his  eyes  were  dull  and  half 
closed,  as  if  he  wanted  to  sleep.  "  What  more  do 
you  want  ?  You  have  done  what  you  wanted  to 
do  .  .  .  So  go  !  Be  off ! "  and  he  tried  to  kick  the 
utterly  woe-begone  Gabriel,  but  could  not,  and  would 
again  have  rolled  over  had  not  Gabriel  held  him  up 
by  embracing  his  shoulders.  The  face  of  Chelkash 
was  now  on  a  level  with  the  face  of  Gabriel ;  both 
were  pale,  pitiful,  and  odd-looking. 

"  Phew ! "  said  Chelkash,  and  he  spat  full  into  the 
wide-open  eyes  of  his  workman. 

The  latter  gently  wiped  it  off  with  his  sleeve. 

"  What  would  you  do  ?  Won't  you  answer  a  word  ? 
Forgive  me,  for  Christ's  sake ! " 

"  Ugh,  you  horror !  But  you'll  never  understand," 
cried  Chelkash  contemptuously,  dragging  off  his  shirt 
from  under  his  short  jacket  and  proceeding  to  wrap 
it  round  his  head  in  silence,  save  for  the  occasional 
gnashing  of  his  teeth.  "You  have  taken  the  notes, 
I  suppose  ?  "  he  muttered  through  his  teeth. 

"  No,  I've  not  taken  them,  my  friend !  .  .  .  I 
don't  want  them  .  .  .  they'd  do  me  harm  !  " 

Chelkash  shoved  his  hand  into  the  pocket  of  his 
jacket,  drew  out  a  bundle  of  money,  put  back  again 
in  his  pocket  a  single  rainbow  note,  and  pitched  all 
the  rest  at  Gabriel. 

"  Take  it  and  go  ! " 

"  I'll  not  take  it,  my  brother  ...  I  cannot ! 
Forgive  me ! " 


CHELKASH.  255 

"  Take  it,  I  say  !  "  roared  Chelkash,  rolling  his  eyes 
horribly. 

"  Forgive  me  ...  and  then  I'll  take  it !  "  said 
Gabriel  timidly,  and  fell  on  his  knees  before  Chelkash 
on  the  grey  sand,  now  saturated  with  rain. 

"  Take  it,  you  monster !  "  said  Chelkash  confidently, 
and,  with  an  effort,  raising  Gabriel's  head  by  the  hair, 
he  flung  the  money  in  his  face.  "  There,  take  it  I 
You  shan't  work  for  me  for  nothing.  Take  it  with- 
out fear !  Don't  be  ashamed  of  nearly  killing  a  man. 
Nobody  will  bother  about  such  as  I.  They'll  even 
thank  you  when  they  hear  about  it.  Come,  take 
it !  Nobody  knows  about  your  deed,  and  it's  worth 
a  recompense.  There  you  are  !  " 

Gabriel  perceived  that  Chelkash  was  laughing  at 
him,  and  his  heart  grew  lighter.  He  grasped  the 
money  tightly  in  his  hand. 

"But,  brother,  you  forgive  me,  won't  you?"  he 
inquired  tearfully. 

"  What  for,  my  brother  ? "  said  Chelkash  in  the 
same  tone,  rising  to  his  feet  and  tottering  a  little. 
"  What  for  ?  For  nothing  at  all.  To-day  it's  your 
turn,  to-morrow  mine." 

"Alas,  my  brother,  -my  brother!"  sobbed  the 
afflicted  Gabriel,  shaking  his  head. 

Chelkash  stood  in  front  of  him  with  a  strange 
smile,  and  the  rag  round  his  head,  now  slightly 
tinged  with  red,  bore  some  resemblance  to  a  Turkish 
fez. 


356  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

The  rain  was  pouring  down  as  if  from  a  bucket 
The  sea  raged  with  a  muffled  roar,  and  the  waves 
now  beat  upon  the  shore  with  frantic  rage. 

For  a  time  both  men  were  silent. 

"  Well,  good-bye  ! "  said  Chelkash  coldly  and  sar- 
castically, and  set  off  on  his  journey. 

He  staggered  as  he  went,  his  feet  tottered  beneath 
him,  and  he  held  his  head  so  oddly,  just  as  if  he  were 
afraid  of  losing  it. 

"  Forgive  me,  brother ! "  Gabriel  besought  him 
once  more. 

"  Bosh ! "  coldly  replied  Chelkash,  pursuing  his 
way. 

On  he  staggered,  supporting  his  head  all  the  time 
in  the  palm  of  his  left  hand,  while  with  his  right  he 
gently  twirled  his  fierce  moustache. 

Gabriel  continued  to  gaze  after  him  till  he  dis- 
appeared in  the  rain,  which  was  now  pouring  down 
more  densely  than  ever  from  the  clouds  in  fine  end- 
less jets,  enveloping  the  steppe  in  an  impenetrable 
mist  of  a  steely  hue. 

Then  Gabriel  took  off  his  wet  cap,  crossed  him- 
self, looked  at  the  money  fast  squeezed  in  his  palm, 
sighed  deeply  and  freely,  hid  the  notes  in  his  bosom, 
and  with  a  spacious  confident  stride  marched  off 
along  the  sea-shore  in  the  direction  opposite  to  that 
in  which  Chelkash  had  vanished. 

The  sea  howled,  and  cast  huge  heavy  waves  on  the 
strand,  churning  them  up  into  foam  and  scud.  The 


CHELKASH.  257 

rain  cut  up  sea  and  land  furiously.  Everything 
around  was  filled  with  howling,  yelling,  moaning. 
Neither  sea  nor  sky  was  visible  behind  the  rain. 

Soon  the  rain  and  the  wash  of  the  waves  had 
cleansed  the  red  spot  on  the  place  where  Chelkash 
had  lain,  had  washed  away  all  traces  of  Chelkash, 
and  all  traces  of  the  young  rustic  from  the  sand  of 
the  sea-shore.  And  on  the  desolate  strand  nothing 
remained  as  a  memorial  of  the  petty  drama  played 
there  by  two  living  souls. 


IX.— CHUMS. 
I. 

ONE  of  them  was  called  Jig-Leg,  and  the  other 
Hopeful,  and  they  were  thieves  by  profession. 

They  lived  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  in  the 
suburb  that  straggled  strangely  along  the  gully,  in 
one  of  those  crazy  shanties  compounded  of  clay  and 
half-rotten  wood — probably  the  rubbish  sweepings 
chucked  down  the  gully.  The  chums  went  a-thieving 
in  the  villages  adjoining  the  town,  for  in  the  town 
itself  it  was  difficult  to  thieve,  and  their  neighbours 
in  the  suburb  were  not  worth  robbing. 

Both  of  them  were  cautious,  modest  chaps — they 
were  not  above  appropriating  a  piece  of  cloth,  a 
peasant's  coarse  coat,  or  an  axe,  a  bit  of  harness,  a 
shirt,  or  a  hen,  and  they  always  gave  a  very  wide 
berth  for  a  very  long  time  to  any  village  where  they 
happened  to  "cop"  anything.  But  despite  such  a 
sensible  mode  of  procedure,  the  suburban  muzhiks 
knew  them  very  well,  and  occasionally  threatened  to 
beat  them  to  death.  But  the  muzhiks,  so  far,  had 
never  got  their  opportunity,  and  the  bones  of  the  two 
friends  were  still  whole,  though  they  had  followed 


CHUMS.  259 

their  profession  and  heard  the  threats  of  the  muzhiks 
for  quite  six  years. 

Jig- Leg  was  a  man  of  about  forty  years  of  age,  tall, 
scraggy,  haggard  and  muscular.  He  walked  with  his 
head  bent  earthwards,  his  long  arms  folded  behind  his 
back,  with  a  leisurely  but  spacious  stride,  and,  as  he 
walked,  he  always  glanced  on  every  side  of  him  with 
his  restlessly  keen  and  anxiously  puckered-up  eyes. 
The  hair  of  his  head  he  clipped  short,  his  beard  he 
shaved  ;  his  thick,  dark-grey,  military  moustaches  hid 
his  mouth,  giving  to  his  face  a  sort  of  grim  and  savage 
expression.  His  left  leg  must  have  been  twisted  or 
broken,  and  had  grown  in  such  a  way  as  to  become 
longer  than  the  right  leg.  When  he  raised  it  as  he 
strode  along,  it  used  to  leap  into  the  air  and  make  a 
sweep  sideways,  and  to  this  peculiarity  of  his  gait  he 
owed  his  nickname. 

Hopeful  was  five  years  younger  than  his  comrade, 
not  so  tall,  but  broader  in  the  shoulders.  He  fre- 
quently had  a  hollow  cough,  and  his  bony  face, 
overgrown  by  a  large  black  beard,  streaked  with 
grey,  was  a  screen  to  his  morbidly  yellow  complexion. 
His  eyes  were  large  and  biack,  but  they  regarded 
everything  amicably  and  deprecatingly.  As  he 
walked,  he  would  press  his  thick  lips  together  into 
the  shape  of  a  heart,  and  would  softly  whistle  some 
song  or  other — a  monotonous.melancholysong,  always 
one  and  the  same.  A  short  garment  of  parti-coloured 
rags,  with  some  resemblance  to  a  wadding  pea-jacket, 


»6o  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

bobbed  up  and  down  on  his  shoulders  ;  but  Jig-Leg 
always  went  about  in  a  long  grey  kaftan,  girded  with 
a  belt. 

Hopeful  was  a  peasant's  son,  his  companion  the  son 
of  a  sexton  ;  he  had  been  a  lackey  and  a  billiard- 
marker.  They  were  always  seen  together,  and  the 
peasants  used  to  say  of  them,  "  Here  are  the  chums 
again  .  .  .  look  at  them  both.  Ah,  the  devils ! 
I  wonder  when  they  are  going  to  croak." 

The  chums  used  to  tramp  along  some  village  road, 
looking  carefully  about  them,  and  avoiding  any  chance 
encounters.  Hopeful  would  cough,  and  whistle  his 
song ;  and  the  leg  of  his  comrade  would  fling  into 
the  air,  as  if  attempting  to  wrench  itself  loose,  and 
bolt  away  from  the  dangerous  path  of  its  master.  Or 
they  would  lie  about  somewhere  on  the  outskirts  of  a 
wood,  amongst  the  rye,  or  in  a  gully,  and  quietly 
discuss  how  to  set  about  stealing  in  order  that  they 
might  have  something  to  eat. 


II. 


In  winter  even  the  wolves,  who  are  far  better 
adapted  for  the  struggle  for  life  than  our  two  friends, 
even  the  wolves  have  a  bad  time  of  it.  Empty, 
ravenous,  and  fierce,  they  even  run  about  the  high- 
ways, and  though  we  kill  them  we  fear  them.  They 
have  claws  and  teeth  for  self-defence,  and — the  main 
thing — their  hearts  are  softened  by  nothing.  This 


CHUMS.  161 

last  point  is  very  important,  for,  in  order  to  triumph 
in  the  struggle  for  existence,  one  ought  to  have  much 
wisdom,  or  the  heart  of  a  beast. 

In  the  winter  the  chums  also  fared  ill.  Often  in 
the  evening  they  both  went  out  into  the  streets  of  the 
town  and  begged  for  alms,  trying  at  the  same  time  to 
escape  the  notice  of  the  police.  Very  rarely  did  they 
succeed  in  stealing  anything ;  it  was  inexpedient  to 
go  into  the  country  because  it  was  cold,  and  they  left 
their  traces  in  the  snow  ;  besides,  it  was  fruitless  to 
visit  the  villages  when  everything  in  them  was  closed 
and  covered  with  snow.  The  comrades  lost  much 
strength  in  the  winter  in  their  struggle  with  hunger, 
and  possibly  there  was  nobody  who  awaited  the 
spring  as  eagerly  as  they  did. 

And  behold  ! — at  last  spring  arrived.  The  com- 
rades, sick  and  extenuated,  emerged  from  their  gully 
and  looked  joyously  at  the  fields  where  the  snow 
thawed  more  and  more  rapidly  everyday  ;  dark-brown 
patches  began  to  appear  everywhere,  the  meadows 
sparkled  like  mirrors,  and  the  streams  fell  a  babbling. 
The  sun  poured  down  his  unselfish  favours  upon  the 
earth,  and  the  two  friends  warmed  themselves  in  his 
rays,  calculating  at  the  same  time  how  soon  the  earth 
would  get  dry,  and  then  they  might  go  and  take 
pot-shots  at  luck  among  the  villages.  Frequently 
Hopeful,  who  suffered  from  sleeplessness,  would 
awake  his  friend  in  the  early  morning  with  a  piece  of 
joyous  intelligence  : 


t6a  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"  Hie  !  get  up !  the  rooks  are  flying  by ! " 

"  Flying  by,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  listen  to  their  cawing  !  " 

Emerging  from  their  wretched  shanty,  they  watched 
the  black  heralds  of  the  spring  carefully  building  new 
nests  or  repairing  old  ones,  and  filling  the  air  with 
their  hoarse  and  anxious  cawing. 

"  Now  it  will  be  the  turn  of  the  larks,"  said 
Hopeful,  setting  about  mending  his  old  and  much 
worn  bird-net. 

And  now  the  larks  also  appeared.  Then  the 
chums  went  into  the  fields,  spread  their  nets  on  one 
of  the  brown  thawed  patches,  and  running  about  in 
the  moist  and  muddy  fields,  drove  into  the  nets  the 
hungry  birds,  who,  wearied  by  their  long  flight,  were 
seeking  their  food  on  the  grey  earth  which  had  only 
just  freed  itself  from  the  snow.  On  catching  the 
birds  they  sold  them  at  a  pyatachek*  or  a  grivenik^ 
per  head.  Then  the  nettles  appeared,  which  they 
gathered  and  carried  to  the  bazaar  for  the  market- 
garden  huckster  women.  Nearly  every  day  of  the 
spring  gave  them  something  fresh  to  do,  some  fresh 
if  but  trifling  bit  of  work.  They  could  turn  every- 
thing to  some  use :  osiers,  sorrel,  mushrooms,  straw- 
berries, fungi — nothing  passed  through  their  hands  in 
vain.  Sometimes  the  soldiers  would  come  out  for 
firing-practice.  After  the  practice  was  over  the 

•  A  silrer  fiyt  kopeck  piece,     f  A  ten  kopeck  piece. 


CHUMS.  163 

chums  would  ferret  about  the  earthworks  and  fish 
up  the  bullets,  which  they  would  sell  subsequently  at 
twenty  kopecks  the  pound.  All  these  occupations  cer- 
tainly prevented  the  chums  from  dying  of  hunger, 
but  very  rarely  gave  them  the  opportunity  of  eating 
their  fill,  rarely  gave  them  the  pleasant  feeling  of 
a  full  stomach  working  warmly  away  upon  hastily 
swallowed  food. 


III. 


Once  in  April  when  the  country-side  had  only  just 
began  to  put  forth  its  buds  and  shoots,  when  the 
woods  were  still  wrapped  in  a  dark  blue  gloom,  and 
the  grass  had  only  just  begun  to  appear  on  the  fat 
fields  basking  in  the  sun — the  chums  were  going 
along  the  high-road  smoking  makharka*  cigars  of 
their  own  manufacture,  and  conversing. 

"  You  are  coughing  worse  than  ever,"  said  Jig- Leg 
to  his  comrade  in  a  tone  of  mild  reproach. 

"  A  fig  for  that !  Look  ye,  the  dear  little  sun  will 
soon  warm  me  up — and  I  shall  feel  alive  again." 

"  H'm  !  You  may  have  to  go  into  the  hospital  you 
know." 

"What  do  I  want  with  hospitals?  If  die  I  must, 
let  me  die  !  " 

"  Well,  that's  true  enough." 

They  were  passing  a  tract  of  land  planted  with 

*  Coarse  tobacco  smoked  by  the  peasants. 


264  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

birches,  and  the  birches  cast  upon  them  the  patterned 
shadows  of  their  fine  slender  leaves.  The  sparrows 
were  hopping  along  the  road  chirping  merrily. 

"  You  don't  walk  very  well,"  remarked  Jig-Leg 
after  a  moment's  silence. 

"  That's  because  I  have  a  choky  feeling,"  exclaimed 
Hopeful.  "  The  air  is  now  thick  and  damp,  it  is  a 
fat  sort  of  air  and  I  find  it  hard  to  swallow." 

And  stopping  short,  he  fell  a-coughing. 

Jig-Leg  stood  beside  him,  smoked  away,  and  never 
took  his  eyes  off  him.  Hopeful,  shaken  by  his  attack 
of  coughing,  held  his  bosom  with  his  hands  and  his 
face  grew  blue. 

"  It  gives  my  lungs  a  good  tearing  any  way!  "  said 
he,  when  he  had  ceased  coughing. 

And  on  they  went  again  after  scaring  away  the 
sparrows. 

"  Now  we  are  coming  to  Mukhina,"  observed 
Jig-Leg,  throwing  away  his  cigarette,  and  spitting. 
"We  must  make  a  circuit  round  it  at  the  back  by 
the  way  of  the  outhouses,  perhaps  we  may  be  able 
to  pick  up  something.  Then  further  on  past  the 
Sivtsova  spinny  to  Kuznechikha  .  .  .  From 
Kuznechikha  we'll  turn  off  towards  Markvoka,  and 
so  home." 

"  That  will  be  a  walk  of  thirty  versts,"  said  Hopefu'. 

"  May  it  not  be  in  vain  !  " 

To  the  left  of  the  road  stood  a  wood  uniformly 
dark  and  inhospitable,  there  was  not  a  single  patch 


CHUMS.  265 

of  green  amidst  its  naked  branches  to  cheer  the 
eye.  On  the  outskirts  of  the  wood  a  small,  rough, 
shaggy  little  horse,  with  woefully  fallen-in  flanks  was 
roaming,  and  its  prominent  ribs  were  as  sharply 
defined  as  the  hoops  of  a  barrel.  The  chums  stopped 
again  and  looked  at  it  for  a  long  time,  watching  how 
it  slowly  picked  its  way  along,  lowering  its  snout 
towards  the  ground,  and  cropping  the  herbage  with 
its  lips,  carefully  munching  them  with  its  worn-out 
yellow  teeth. 

"  She's  starved  too  !  "  observed  Hopeful. 

"  Gee-gee  ! "  cried  Jig-Leg  enticingly. 

The  horse  looked  at  him,  and  shaking  his  head, 
negatively  bent  it  earthwards  again. 

Hopeful  explained  the  horse's  wearisome  move- 
ment :  "  He  doesn't  like  you ! "  said  he. 

"  Come  !  If  we  hand  him  over  to  the  gipsies, 
they  no  doubt  will  give  us  seven  roubles  for  her," 
observed  Jig-Leg  meditatively. 

"  No  they  won't !     What  could  they  do  with  her  ? " 

"There's  the  hide!" 

"The  hide?  Do  you  suppose  they'll  give  as 
much  as  that  for  the  hide  ?  Look  at  it !  What  sort 
of  a  hide  do  you  call  that  ?  Why  it  isn't  equal  to  old 
shoe  leather." 

"  Well,  they'd  give  something  any  way." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  that's  true  enough." 

Jig- Leg  looked  at  his  comrade,  and  after  a  pause, 
said : 


a66  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"Well?" 

"  Awkward     ..."  replied  Hopeful  doubtfully. 

"How?" 

"  We  should  leave  tracks.  The  ground  is  damp 
.  .  .  they  could  trace  where  we  took  it." 

"  We  could  put  clouts  on  her  feet." 

"  As  you  like." 

"  Come  along  !  Let's  drive  her  into  the  wood  and 
pass  the  night  in  the  gully.  In  the  night  we'll  bring 
her  out  and  drive  her  to  the  gipsies.  It's  not  far — 
only  three  versts." 

"Let's  go  then,"  said  Hopeful,  shaking  his  head. 
"A  bird  in  the  bush  you  know  .  .  .  But  suppose 
something  comes  of  it  ?  " 

"Nothing  will  come  of  it,"  said  Jig-Leg  with 
conviction. 

They  quitted  the  road,  and  after  glancing  carefully 
around  them,  entered  the  wood.  The  horse  looked 
at  them,  snorted,  waved  her  tail,  and  again  fell  to 
munching  the  withered  grass. 


IV. 


At  the  bottom  of  the  deep  sylvan  hollow  it  was 
dark,  damp,  and  still.  The  murmuring  of  the  stream 
was  borne  through  the  silence,  monotonous  and 
melancholy,  like  a  lament.  From  the  steep  sides  of 
the  gully  above  waved  the  naked  branches  of  the 
hazels,  dwarf-cherries,  and  maples  ;  here  and  there  the 


CHUMS.  267 

roots  of  the  trees,  saturated  with  the  spring  water, 
projected  helplessly  out  of  the  ground.  The  forest 
was  still  dead ;  the  gloom  of  evening  magnified  the 
lifeless  monotony  of  its  hues  and  the  sad  silence 
lurking  within  it  which  had  something  of  the  gloomy 
and  triumphant  repose  of  an  old  churchyard. 

The  chums  had  already  been  sitting  a  long  time 
there  in  the  damp  and  silent  gloom,  beneath  a  group 
of  aspens  clustered  together  in  a  huge  clump  of  earth 
at  the  bottom  of  the  ravine.  A  tiny  fire  burnt 
brightly  in  front  of  them,  and  as  they  warmed  their 
hands  over  it,  they  cast  into  it,  from  time  to  time,  dry 
twigs  and  branches,  taking  care  that  the  flame  should 
burn  evenly  all  the  time,  and  that  the  fire  should  not 
give  forth  smoke.  Not  very  far  off  stood  the  horse. 
They  had  wrapped  her  mouth  round  with  a  sleeve 
torn  from  the  rags  of  Hopeful,  and  had  fastened  her 
by  her  bridle  to  the  trunk  of  a  tree. 

Hopeful,  crouching  down  on  his  heels  by  the  fire, 
was  dreamily  gazing  at  the  flame  and  whistling  his 
song  ;  his  comrade,  cutting  away  at  a  bunch  of  osier- 
twigs,  was  making  a  basket  out  of  them,  and  his 
occupation  kept  him  silent. 

The  sad  melody  of  the  stream  and  the  soft 
whistling  of  the  unlucky  man  blended  into  one  accord, 
and  floated  plaintively  in  the  silence  of  the  evening 
and  the  forest.  Now  and  then  some  twigs  on  the  fire 
would  crackle,  crackle  and  hiss,  doubtless  their  way 
of  sighing,  as  if  they  felt  that  life  was  more  lingering 


268  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

than  their  death  in  the  fire,  and  therefore  more  of  a 
torment 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  Shall  we  be  going  soon  ?  " 
inquired  Hopeful. 

"  It's  early  yet.  Let  it  get  quite  dark  and  then 
we'll  go,"  replied  Jig-Leg,  without  raising  his  head 
from  his  work. 

Hopeful  sighed  and  began  to  cough. 

"  Frozen,  eh  ?  "  inquired  his  companion  after  a  long 
pause. 

"  N — n — no  .  .  .  Something  makes  me  miser- 
able." 

"  Let's  hear  it !  "  and  Jig- Leg  shook  his  head. 

"  My  heart  is  throbbing." 

"Sick,  eh?" 

"  I  suppose  so  ...  but  it  may  be  something 
else." 

Jig- Leg  was  silent  for  a  while  and  then  he  said  : 

"  I  say  !    .    .     .     don't  think  !  " 

"Of  what?" 

"  Of  everything." 

*  Look  here  now  " — Hopeful  suddenly  seemed  to 
grow  alive — "how  can  I  help  thinking?  I  look  at 
her  " — he  waved  his  hand  towards  the  horse — "  I  look 
at  her  and  I  understand — I  had  such  a  one  also.  She 
was  a  sorrel,  and  at  all  sorts  of  work — first-class. 
Once  upon  a  time  I  even  had  a  pair  of  them — I 
worked  right  well  in  those  days." 

"What  are  you  driving  at?"  asked  Jig-Leg  curtly 


CHUMS.  269 

and  coldly.  "  I  don't  like  this  sort  of  thing  in  you, 
you  set  up  the  bagpipes  and  begin  to  groan ! — what's 
the  good  ?  " 

Hopeful  silently  threw  into  the  fire  a  handful 
of  twigs  broken  up  small,  and  watched  the  sparks 
fly  upwards  and  disappear  in  the  damp  air.  His 
eyes  blinked  frequently,  and  shadows  ran  swiftly 
across  his  face.  Presently  he  turned  his  head  in 
the  direction  of  the  horse  and  gazed  at  her  for  a 
long  time. 

The  horse  was  standing  motionless,  as  if  rooted  in 
the  ground  ;  her  head,  distorted  out  of  recognition  by 
the  wrapping,  was  hanging  down. 

"  We  must  take  a  single-minded  view  of  things," 
said  Jig- Leg,  severely  and  emphatically,  "our  life — 
is  a  day  and  a  night — twenty-four  hours  and  that's 
all !  If  there's  food — well  and  good  ;  if  there  isn't 
— well  squeak  and  squeak  as  much  as  you  like, 
you'd  better  leave  off,  for  it  does  no  good.  And  the 
way  you  went  on  just  now  isn't  nice  to  listen  to.  It's 
because  you're  sick,  that's  what  it  is." 

"  It  must  be  because  I'm  sick,  I  suppose,"  agreed 
Hopeful  meekly,  but,  after  a  brief  silence,  he  added, 
"  But  it  may  be  owing  to  a  weak  heart." 

"  And  that's  because  your  heart  is  sick,"  declared 
Jig-Leg  categorically. 

He  bit  through  the  osier-twigs,  waved  them  over 
his  head,  cut  the  air  with  a  shrill  whistle,  and  said 
severely : 


270  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"  I'm  right  enough  you  see — there's  nothing  of  that 
sort  the  matter  with  me." 

The  horse  shifted  from  leg  to  leg ;  a  branch 
cracked  somewhere  ;  some  earth  plumped  into  the 
stream,  introducing  some  fresh  notes  into  its  quiet 
melody ;  then  from  somewhither  two  little  birds 
started  up  and  flew  along  the  gully,  screeching 
uneasily.  Hopeful  followed  them  with  his  eyes 
and  remarked  quietly : 

"  What  birds  are  those  ?  If  they  are  starlings  they 
have  no  business  in  this  forest  They  are  mostly 
around  dwelling-places.  I  suppose  they  are  silk-tails* 
.  .  .  lots  of  'em  about." 

"  They  may  be  cross-bills."f 

"  It's  too  early  for  cross-bills,  and  besides,  what 
does  a  cross-bill  want  in  a  fir- wood?  It  has  no 
business  there.  They  can  only  be  silk-tails." 

"  All  right— drop  'em." 

"  Oh  certainly !  "  agreed  Hopeful,  and  he  sighed 
heavily  for  some  reason  or  other. 

The  work  in  the  hands  of  Jig-Leg  progressed 
rapidly,  he  had  already  woven  the  bottom  of  the 
basket,  and  was  skilfully  making  the  sides.  He  cut 
the  osiers  with  his  knife,  bit  them  through  with 
his  teeth,  bent  and  twined  them,  and  snorted  from 
time  to  time  whenever  he  gave  a  tug  at  his  bristling 
moustaches. 

Hopeful  looked  sometimes  at  him,  sometimes  at 

*  Bombycilla  garrula.      f  Loxia  curvirostra. 


CHUMS.  271 

the  horse,  which  seemed  to  have  petrified  into  its 
dejected  pose,  and  sometimes  at  the  sky,  already 
almost  nocturnal,  but  without  stars. 

"  The  muzhiks  grab  all  the  horses,"  he  suddenly 
remarked  in  a  strange  voice — "  and  there  are  none  left 
except  here  and  there  perhaps — so  there  are  no  more 
horses ! " 

And  Hopeful  waved  his  arms  about.  His  face  was 
dull,  and  his  eyes  blinked  as  frequently  as  if  he  was 
looking  at  something  bright  blazing  up  before  them. 

"What's  that  to  do  with  you?"  asked  Jig-Leg 
severely. 

"  I  was  calling  to  mind  a  story  ..."  said 
Hopeful  guiltily. 

"  What  story  ?  " 

"  Yes !  .  .  .  Just  as  it  might  be  here  .  .  . 
the  same  thing  happened  to  my  knowledge  once 

.  .  they  took  away  a  horse  .  .  .  from  a 
neighbour  of  mine  .  .  .  Michael  his  name 
was  .  .  .  such  a  big  muzhik  he  was  .  .  . 
and  pock-marked  .  .  ." 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  they  took  her  away  .  .  .  She  was 
browsing  on  the  winter  pastures — and  all  at  once 
she  was  gone.  When  Michael  understood  that  he 
was  nagless,  down  he  plumped  on  the  ground,  and 
how  he  howled !  Ah,  my  little  friend,  how  he  did 
bellow  then,  to  be  sure  ...  it  was  just  as  if  he 
had  broken  his  leg  .  .  ." 


a 72  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"  Well  ? " 

"  Well     ...     he  was  a  long  time  like  that" 

"  And  how  do  you  come  in  ?  " 

At  this  sharp  question  from  his  comrade,  Hopeful 
slunk  away  from  him,  and  timidly  answered  : 

"Oh  ...  I  only  remembered  it,  that's  all. 
For  without  his  horse  the  muzhik  is  in  a  hole." 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  began  Jig- Leg  severely, 
looking  Hopeful  straight  in  the  face,  "  chuck  it,  d'ye 
hear?  There's  no  sense  in  what  you  say,  do  you 
understand  ?  Michael,  your  neighbour,  indeed ! 
What's  it  got  to  do  with  you  ?  " 

"  Anyhow,  it's  a  pity,"  objected  Hopeful,  shrugging 
his  shoulders. 

"  A  pity !  Good  heavens !  and  is  there  anyone  who 
ever  takes  pity  on  us  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Shut  up !  it  will  soon  be  time  to  go." 

"Soon?" 

"Yes." 

Hopeful  moved  a  little  towards  the  fire,  poked  it 
with  his  stick,  and  looking  askance  at  Jig-Leg,  who 
was  once  more  immersed  in  his  work,  said  softly  and 
beseechingly : 

"  Hadn't  we  better  let  her*  go  ?  " 

"  It's  your  low  nature  that  makes  you  talk  like 
that ! "  exclaimed  Jig-Leg  angrily. 

•  The  horse. 


CHUMS.  «73 

"  Nay,  but  for  God's  sake  listen  ! "  persisted  Hopeful 
softly,  and  with  a  tone  of  conviction.  "Just  think, 
there's  danger  in  it!  Here  we  shall  have  to  drag 
her  along  for  four  versts  .  .  .  And  suppose  the 
gipsies  won't  take  her ! — what  then  ?  M 

"  That's  my  affair." 

"As  you  like!  Only  it  would  be  better  to  let 
her  go.  Let  her  go  and  slope.  Look  what  a 
knacker  she  is ! " 

Jig- Leg  was  silent,  but  his  fingers  moved  more 
quickly  than  ever. 

"  How  much  would  they  give  for  her,  I  should  like 
to  know,  in  case  they  gave  anything  at  all  ?  "  persisted 
Hopeful,  quietly  but  stubbornly.  "  And  now  it's  the 
best  time.  It  will  be  dark  immediately.  If  we  go 
along  the  gully  we  shall  come  out  at  Dubenka. 
Let's  keep  our  eyes  open,  and  we  may  be  able  to  prig 
something  or  other." 

The  monotonous  speech  of  Hopeful,  blending  with 
the  gurgling  of  the  stream,  floated  down  the  gully, 
and  enraged  the  industrious  Jig- Leg. 

He  was  silent,  ground  his  teeth,  and  the  osier- 
twigs  broke  beneath  his  fingers  from  sheer  excite- 
ment 

14  The  women  are  bleaching  their  linen  now." 

The  horse  snorted  loudly  and  became  restive. 
Enwrapped  by  the  mist,  she  now  looked  more 
monstrous  and  more  wretched  than  ever.  Jig-Leg 
looked  at  her  and  spat  into  the  fire. 

S 


274  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"The  cattle,  too,  are  now  at  large  .  .  .  the 
geese  are  in  the  fields  .  .  ." 

"  How  long  will  it  take  you  to  spit  it  all  out,  you 
devil  ?  "  inquired  Jig-Leg  savagely. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Stephen,  don't  be  angry  with 
me.  Let  her  loose  in  the  woods.  It's  the  right  thing 
to  do." 

"Have    you    eaten    anything  to-day?"    shrieked 


"  No,"  replied  Hopeful,  confused  and  frightened  by 
his  comrade's  shout. 

"  Then,  deuce  take  you,  you  may  starve  for  all  I 
care.  I  spit  upon  you." 

Hopeful  looked  at  him  in  silence,  Jig-Leg,  col- 
lecting the  osiers  together,  bound  them  into  a  bundle, 
and  snorted  angrily.  The  reflection  of  the  fire  fell 
upon  his  face,  and  his  face,  with  the  bristling  mous- 
taches, was  red  and  angry. 

Hopeful  turned  away  and  sighed  heavily. 

"  I  spit  upon  such  sentiments.  I  say  —  do  as  you 
like,"  said  Jig-  Leg,  hoarsely  and  viciously.  "  But  let 
me  tell  you  this,"  he  went  on,  "  if  you  go  hedging 
like  this  any  more,  you  are  no  company  for  me. 
To  that  I  mean  to  stick.  I  know  what  you  are, 
you  .  .  ." 

"  You're  an  odd  chap    .    .     ." 

11  No  more  tall  talk." 

Hopeful  squirmed  and  coughed  ;  then  after  cough- 
ing his  cough  out,  he  sighed  heavily. 


CHUMS.  275 

"Do  you  know  why  I  talk  so  much  about  it? 
Because  it  is  dangerous." 

"  All  right ! "  cried  Jig- Leg  angrily. 

He  picked  up  the  osier-twigs,  flung  them  over  his 
shoulder,  shoved  the  unfinished  basket  under  his  arm, 
and  rose  to  his  feet 

Hopeful  also  stood  up,  looked  at  his  comrade,  and 
softly  approached  the  horse. 

"  Wo-ah  !  Christ  be  with  thee !  Fear  not ! "  his 
hollow  voice  resounded  through  the  gully. 

"  Wo-ah !  Stand  still !  Well — go  of  your  own 
accord — go  along,  then  —there  you  are !  " 

Jig-Leg  watched  his  comrade  pottering  about  the 
horse  and  unwinding  the  clout  from  its  mouth,  and 
the  moustaches  of  the  surly  thief  twitched  with 
excitement. 

"  Let's  be  off,"  said  he,  moving  forwards. 

"  I'm  coming,"  said  Hopeful. 

And  forcing  their  way  through  the  scrub,  they  went 
silently  along  the  gully  in  the  midst  of  the  night 
darkness,  which  filled  it  to  the  very  brim. 

The  horse,  too,  came  after  them. 

Presently  behind  them  they  heard  the  splashing  of 
water,  which  drowned  the  melody  of  the  stream. 

"Ah,  thou  fool!  thou  hast  fallen  into  the  water," 
said  Hopeful. 

Jig-Leg  snorted  angrily,  but  remained  silent. 

In  the  dark,  amidst  the  gloomy  silence  of  the 
ravine,  resounded  the  gentle  crackling  of  twigs ; 


276  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

the  sound  came  floating  along  from  the  place  when* 
the  red  cluster  of  the  embers  of  the  fire  sparkled  o^ 
the  ground  like  some  monstrous  and  maliciously- 
mirthful  eye. 

The  moon  arose. 

Her  transparent  radiance  filled  the  ravine  with  a 
mist-like  gloom ;  the  shadows  fell  on  every  side, 
making  the  forest  all  the  denser,  and  the  silence 
therein  more  complete  and  more  austere.  The  white 
stems  of  the  birches,  silvered  over  by  the  moon,  stood 
out  like  wax-candles  against  the  darker  ground  of  the 
oaks,  elms,  and  brushwood. 

The  chums  walked  along  the  bottom  of  the  ravine 
in  silence.  It  was  hard  going ;  sometimes  their  feet 
stumbled,  sometimes  they  sank  deep  in  the  mire. 
Hopeful  frequently  panted,  and  a  whistling,  wheezing, 
rattling  sound  came  from  his  breast,  just  as  if  a  lot  of 
large  clocks  that  had  not  been  cleaned  for  a  long  time 
were  stowed  away  there.  Jig-Leg  went  in  front, 
the  shadow  of  his  lofty  and  erect  figure  fell  upon 
Hopeful. 

"  Look  now ! "  said  he,  petulantly  and  sulkily ; 
"  where  are  we  going  ?  What  are  we  after  ?  Eh  ?  " 

Hopeful  groaned,  and  was  silent 

"  The  night  is  now  shorter  than  a  sparrow's  beak, 
by  daylight  we  shall  come  to  the  village,  and  how 
shall  we  do?  It  is  just  as  if  we  were  gentlemen  at 
large  taking  a  stroll." 

"  I  feel  very  bad,  brother,"  said  Hopeful  quietly. 


CHUMS.  377 

"  Very  bad ! "  exclaimed  Jig- Leg  ironically  ;  "  there 
you  are,  of  course  !  How  so  ?  " 

"  I  have  great  difficulty  in  breathing,"  replied  the 
sick  thief. 

"In  breathing?  Why  have  you  a  great  difficulty 
in  breathing  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  ill,  1  suppose." 

"  You  lie !     It  is  because  you  are  stupid." 

Jig- Leg  stopped  short,  turned  towards  his  comrade, 
and  shaking  his  fingers  beneath  his  nose,  added  : 

"Yes — you  cannot  breathe  because  of  your  stu- 
pidity. Do  you  understand  ?  " 

Hopeful  bowed  his  head  low,  and  answered 
guiltily : 

"  Certainly ! " 

He  would  have  said  something  more,  but  began  to 
cough  instead,  leaning  on  to  the  trunk  of  a  tree  with 
trembling  hands ;  and  he  coughed  for  a  long  time, 
trampling  the  ground  without  moving  from  the  spot, 
shaking  his  head,  and  opening  his  mouth  wide. 

Jig-Leg  continued  looking  at  his  face,  which  stood 
out  haggard,  earthy  and  greenish  in  the  light  of  the 
moon. 

"  You'll  awaken  all  the  wood-sprites  in  the  forest," 
he  said  at  last,  surlily.. 

And  when  Hopeful  had  coughed  himself  out,  and 
throwing  back  his  head,  groaned  freely,  he  made  a 
proposition  to  him  in  a  dictatorial  tone. 

"  Rest  a  bit.     Sit  down." 


278  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

And  they  sat  down  on  the  damp  earth  in  the 
shadow  of  the  bushes.  Jig-Leg  made  a  cigarette, 
began  smoking  it,  looked  at  its  glow,  and  began  to 
speak  very  deliberately. 

"  If  only  we  had  a  home  somewhere  or  other  to  go 
to,  we  might  possibly  return  home  .  .  ." 

"  That's  true,"  said  Hopeful,  wagging  his  head. 

Jig-Leg  looked  askance  at  him,  and  continued  : 

"But  as  we  haven't  got  a  home — we  must  go 
on." 

"  Yes — we  must,"  groaned  Hopeful. 

"  We've  no  place  to  go  to,  so  there's  no  sense  talk- 
ing about  it.  And  the  chief  cause  of  it  is — we  are 
fools !  And  what  fools  we  are  too  ! " 

The  dry  voice  of  Jig- Leg  cut  through  the  air,  and 
must  have  greatly  disquieted  Hopeful — for  he  flung 
himself  prone  on  the  ground,  sighed,  and  gurgled 
oddly. 

"And  I  want  something  to  eat — I've  a  frightful 
longing  that  way,"  Jig-Leg  concluded  his  drawling, 
reproachfully  resonant  speech. 

Then  Hopeful  rose  to  his  feet  with  an  air  of 
decision. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Jig- Leg. 

"Let's  be  off!" 

"  Why  so  lively  all  at  once  ?  " 

"Let's  go!" 

"Come  along,  then,"  and  Jig- Leg  also  stood  up, 
"  only  there's  no  sense  in  this  .  .  ." 


CHUMS.  279 

"  I  don't  care  what  happens  ! "  and  Hopeful  waved 
his  hand. 

"  Plucked  up  your  courage  again,  eh  ? " 

"What?  Here  you've  been  tormenting  me  and 
tormenting  me,  and  blackguarding  me  and  black- 
guarding me  .  .  .  Oh  Lord ! " 

"  Then  why  do  you  mess  about  so  ?  " 

"  Mess  about  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  look  you,  I  felt  so  sorry." 

"  For  whom  ?    For  what  ?  " 

"  For  whom  ?     For  that  man,  I  suppose." 

"  For  that — man  ?  "  drawled  Jig-Leg.  "  Come  now, 
take  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  have  done  with  it.  Ah ! 
you're  a  good  soul,  but  you've  no  sense.  What's  the 
man  to  you  ?  Can  I  make  you  understand  that  ? 
Why,  he'd  collar  you,  and  smash  you  like  a  flea  beneath 
his  nail !  At  the  very  time  that  you  are  pitying  him  I 
Then  you'll  go  and  declare  your  stupidity  to  him, 
and  in  return  for  your  compassion,  he'll  plague  you 
with  all  the  seven  plagues.  Why,  you  carry  your 
very  guts  in  your  hand  for  people  to  look  at,  and  drag 
your  very  vitals  out  into  the  light  of  day.  Pity 
indeed! — Ugh!  I've  no  patience  with  you.  For 
Heaven's  sake,  why  don't  you  have  pity  on  yourself, 
instead  of  knocking  yourself  to  bits?  A  pretty 
fellow  you  are  !  Pity  indeed  ! — pooh ! " 

Jig-Leg  was  quite  outraged. 

His  voice,  cutting  and  full  of  irony  and  contempt 


a8o  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

for  his  comrade,  resounded  through  the  wood,  and  the 
branches  of  the  shrubs  shook  with  a  gentle  rustle,  as  if 
agreeing  with  the  rough  truth  of  his  words. 

Hopeful,  overwhelmed  by  these  reproaches,  paced 
along  slowly  on  his  trembling  legs,  drawing  up  his 
arms  into  the  sleeves  of  his  jacket,  and  drooping  his 
head  upon  his  breast. 

"  Wait !  "  said  he  at  last  "  What  matters  it  ?  I'll 
put  it  all  right.  When  we  come  to  the  village,  I  will 
go  into  it — all  alone.  I'll  go — you  need  not  come 
with  me  .  .  »  I'll  prig  the  very  first  thing  that 
falls  within  my  reach — and  so  home !  Come  along, 
and  I'll  show  you  something !  It  will  be  hard  for  me 
— but  don't  say  a  word." 

He  spoke  almost  inaudibly,  panting  hard,  with  a 
rattling  and  a  gurgling  in  his  breast.  Jig- Leg  looked 
at  him  suspiciously,  stopped  short  as  if  he  were  about 
to  say  something,  waved  his  hand,  and  went  on  again 
without  saying  anything. 

For  a  long  time  they  went  on  slowly  and  in 
silence. 

The  cocks  began  to  crow  somewhere  near,  the  dogs 
barked,  presently  the  melancholy  sound  of  the  watch- 
bell  was  wafted  to  them  from  the  distant  village 
church,  and  was  swallowed  up  in  the  sombre  silence 
of  the  forest.  A  large  bird,  looking  like  a  big  black 
patch  in  the  faint  moonlight,  rose  into  the  air,  and 
there  was  an  ominous  sound  in  the  ravine  of  a  flurried 
piping  and  the  rustling  of  feathers. 


CHUMS.  a8i 

"A  crow — and  a  seed  crow*  too,  if  I'm  not  mis- 
taken," observed  Jig-Leg. 

"  Look  here ! "  said  Hopeful,  sinking  heavily  on  the 
ground,  "  go  you,  and  I'll  remain  here  ...  I  can 
do  no  more  .  .  .  I'm  choking  .  .  .  and  my 
head  is  going  round." 

"Well,  there  you  are!"  said  Jig-Leg  crossly. 
11  What,  can't  you  do  a  little  more  ? " 

"  I  can't." 

"  I  congratulate  you.     Ugh ! " 

"  I've  not  a  bit  of  strength  in  me." 

"  I'm  not  surprised,  we've  tramped  without  a  meal 
since  yesterday." 

"No,  it's  not  that  .  .  .  it's  all  up  with  me 
.  .  .  look  how  the  blood  trickles  ! " 

And  Hopeful  raised  his  hand  to  Jig-Leg's  face,  all 
bespattered  with  something  dark.  The  other  looked 
askance  at  it,  and  then,  lowering  his  voice,  asked  : 

"  What's  to  be  done  ?  " 

"You  go  on  .  .  .  I'll  remain  here  ...  I 
may  rest  a  bit." 

"  Where  shall  I  go  ?  Suppose  I  go  to  the  village 
and  say  there's  a  man  in  the  forest  taken  bad  ?  " 

"No    ...    they'd  kill  me." 

"  If  they  get  the  chance." 

Hopeful  fell  upon  his  back,  coughed  a  hollow  cough, 
and  vomited  a  whole  quantity  of  blood. 

•  A  rook. 


a8a  TALES    FROM    GORKY. 

"How  goes  it?"  inquired  Jig-Leg,  standing  over 
him,  but  looking  the  other  way. 

"  Very  badly,"  said  Hopeful,  in  an  almost  inaudible 
voice,  and  fell  a-coughing  again. 

Jig-Leg  cursed  loudly  and  cynically. 

"  Suppose  I  call  someone  ?  " 

"Whom?"  said  Hopeful,  his  voice  was  like  a 
dismal  echo. 

"  Or  perhaps  you  may  now  be  able  to  get  up  and 
go  on  for  a  little  while  ?  " 

"No.no!" 

Jig-Leg  sat  by  the  head  of  his  comrade,  and 
embracing  his  own  knees  with  his  arms  gazed 
steadily  at  Hopeful's  face.  The  breast  of  Hopeful 
was  moving  convulsively  with  a  hollow  rattling 
sound,  his  eyes  were  deep-sunken,  his  lips  gaped 
strangely  apart  and  seemed  to  cleave  to  his  teeth. 
From  the  left  corner  of  his  mouth  a  dark  living  jet 
was  trickling. 

"  Is  it  still  flowing  ?  "  asked  Jig- Leg  quietly,  and  in 
the  tone  of  his  question  there  was  something  very 
near  to  respect. 

The  face  of  Hopeful  shuddered. 

"  It  is  flowing,"  came  a  faint  rattle. 

Jig-Leg  rested  his  head  on  his  knees  and  was 
silent. 

Over  them  hung  the  wall  of  the  ravine  furrowed  by 
the  deep  cavities  of  the  spring  streams.  From  its 
summit  a  shaggy  row  of  trees  illuminated  by  the 


CHUMS.  283 

moon  looked  down  into  the  abyss.  The  other  side  of 
the  ravine,  which  had  a  gentler  slope,  was  overgrown 
with  shrubs  ;  here  and  there  the  grey  stems  of  the 
aspens  stood  out  against  its  darker  masses,  and  on 
their  naked  branches  the  nests  of  the  rooks  were 
visible  .  .  .  And  the  ravine  itself,  lit  up  by  the 
moon,,  was  like  a  vision  of  slumber,  like  a  weary 
dream,  with  nothing  of  the  hues  of  life  ;  and  the 
quiet  gurgling  of  the  stream  magnified  its  lifelessness 
still  more  and  overshadowed  its  melancholy  silence. 

"  I  am  dying,"  whispered  Hopeful  in  a  scarce 
audible  voice,  and  immediately  afterwards  he  repeated 
in  a  loud  and  clear  voice,  "  I  am  dying,  Stephen ! " 

Jig-Leg  trembled  all  over,  wriggled,  snorted,  and 
raising  his  head  from  his  knees  said,  awkwardly,  very 
gently,  and  as  if  fearing  to  disturb  something  : 

"  Oh,  you've  not  come  to  that  .  .  .  don't  be 
afraid.  Quite  impossible!  This  is  such  a  simple 
thing  .  .  .  why  it's  nothing,  my  brother,  God 
bless  me ! " 

"  Oh,  Lord  Jesus  Christ !  "  sighed  Hopeful  heavily. 

"  It's  nothing  at  all !  "  whispered  Jig-Leg,  bending 
over  his  comrade's  face  ;  "just  you  keep  quiet  for  a 
bit  ...  maybe  it  will  pass  over  !  " 

But  Hopeful  began  to  cough,  and  a  new  sound 
was  audible  in  his  breast,  just  as  if  a  wet  clout  was 
being  smacked  against  his  ribs.  Jig-Leg  looked  at 
him  and  twirled  his  moustaches  in  silence.  Having 
coughed  himself  out,  Hopeful  began  to  pant  loudly 


TALES    FROM    GORKY. 


and  uninterruptedly  —  just  as  if  he  were  running 
away  somewhere  with  all  his  might.  For  a  long 
time  he  panted  like  this,  then  he  said  : 

"Forgive  me,  Stephen  .  .  .  if  anything  I 
.  .  .  that  horse  you  know  .  .  .  forgive  me, 
little  brother  !  " 

"  You  forgive  me  !  "  interrupted  Jig-  Leg,  and  after 
a  pause,  he  added  : 

"  And  I  ...  whither  shall  I  go  ?  And  how 
will  it  be  with  me  ?  " 

"  It  doesn't  matter.  May  the  Lord  give 
thee  ..." 

He  sighed  without  finishing  his  sentence  and  was 
silent 

Then  he  began  to  make  a  rattling  sound  .  .  . 
then  he  stretched  out  his  legs  —  one  of  them  he  jerked 
sideways. 

Jig-Leg  gazed  at  him  without  once  removing  his 
eyes.  A  few  moments  passed  as  long  as  hours. 

Suddenly  Hopeful  raised  his  head,  but  immediately 
it  fell  helplessly  back  on  to  the  ground. 

"What,  my  brother?"  said  Jig-  Leg,  leaning  over 
him.  But  he  answered  no  more,  but  lay  there  quiet 
and  motionless. 

The  sour-visaged  Jig-Leg  remained  sitting  by  his 
chum  a  few  minutes  longer,  then  he  arose,  took  off 
his  hat,  crossed  himself,  and  slowly  went  on  his  way 
along  the  ravine.  His  face  was  peaked,  his  eyebrows 
and  moustaches  were  bristling,  and  he  walked  as 


CHUMS.  285 

firmly  as  if  he  wanted  to  beat  the  earth  with  his  feet 
and  do  her  a  mischief. 

The  day  was  already  breaking.  The  sky  was  grey 
and  cheerless ;  a  savage  silence  prevailed  in  the 
ravine ;  only  the  stream,  disturbing  no  one,  uttered 
its  monotonous  melancholy  speech. 

But  hark,  there's  a  rustle — maybe  a  clump  of 
earth  has  rolled  down  the  side  of  the  ravine  .  .  . 
The  rook  awakes,  and,  croaking  uneasily,  flies  off 
elsewhere.  Presently  a  titmouse  utters  her  cry.  In 
the  damp  cold  air  of  the  ravine  sounds  don't  live 
long — they  arise  and  immediately  vanish. 


THE  END. 


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